he got a face like a catchers mitt

pitch a little mother’s love at that

she gets by without a trace of wit

who’s on first when no one’s up to bat

she sells cheap pills by the schoolyard

on Sundays from a back yard shed

he sails up and down a ragged shore sure

his drowned child’s not really dead

it’s so pleasant on my bed of nails

staring up at points of light

try not to move don’t think about too much

falling stars and fireflies tell you it’s alright

she got the stripped elm body of a boy

wild child with wind in flaming hair

he got a flask of silver by his heart

all the joy and love tin-man needs are there

he got strips of duct-tape stuck to his head

they help him hear the voices when they call

she got a mirror mirror on the wall

seems nothing’s fair at all

it’s so pleasant…

aqueducts and order legions on the hill

coliseum nights and other blasts

all fall down like jack and jill

tragic tale and a kamikaze cast

it’s so pleasant…

Points of Light