Webaster and I were sittin and
drinkin in my pink tin trailer Lili, when looky who pops up on my psycho-babble
screen, I was all done lurking for you, given you up for dead, missin six weeks
during our hardest time ever at PSB Snakepit, and where’d you end up,
elusive little heartbreak
so-what, humpin on the parkin meter, leaning on the parking meter, slumming in
the old neighborhood, tell me about it,
I go piss on ‘em myself every
now and then. FOUND!
Now that you’ve offered the
charmingest go-die I’ve seen since my own expulsion I just have to ask
where you gonna go to develop your
talent? You bring the news Miss 8888, voice like that needs a forum, needs to
say what it’s gotta say, either that or all your love ends up in vain, and we
can’t have another one of those, right?
My boyfriend’s impressed by the
absence of self-pity in your farewell fuck off, yes, let the bitches go, hold
tight to life like your boy animus has a hold on your muse:
little rooster’s crowing, must
be something on his mind,
little rooster’s crowing, must
be something on his mind,
well I feel just like that
rooster, honey you treat me so unkind
(this is not a bad thing of course).
PREDICTION:
My hellhound will teach me how
to teach all artistic/ex-victim/psychiatric/supreme
beings how to kickstart their own websites, soon, I’m serious, the
possibilities are endless, but basically speakin are new-fangled suicide
stoppers, it’s our world-wide-web right, all free and goes on forever, all
yours to take over whenever you’re ready, ok?
Love, Robin
Copyright 2002
Robin Plan and troublewaits.com.