Binge On Rescue Pastilles
Martin smokes exotic cigarettes
On the roof of his bungalow
Dull weather and asleep on the wicker
Wingback, Chesterfield
St. Charles cabinets in a prop catalogue
People are saying that Frank Lee Morris
Lives down by the quarry

Presidential arc of the bow
Lighting up around my flammable feelings
If this be light and rock and roll
As soot they float off to the tune
You are the credible source
And I am the witness with feet in concrete plans
Still driven by suspicion of comfortable people
My judgement restricts absolute relaxation
So who am I to say?

Framed men will binge on rescue pastilles
Though I feel to know, to know
Do you ever have to feel to know?
Do you ever have to feel to know?
Maritime smiles, Jack Kirby fingers
He talks a lot about the people
And productions despised
Do you ever have to feel to know?