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WHAZ' ZAT Shawn Phillips (c. 1970) Lightning slaying shadows In the tremors of the night While he creeps among the alleys Bringing fear before the fright She sleeps in tattered trousers In the ballroom's decadence Moaning gently of her dreaming By escorted precedence Antiquated babblings From a constant stream of thought Sensitively wringing out The rags that he has caught Patting yet her bulging belly She so slowly cries a smile In anticipated suffering Of her slowly growing child He is speeding in a vacuum Going nowhere but, of course He might believe in discipline Of a bloody kind of sort Naturally a state of race, A never-changing spate of hate While everything in some weird way Does manage to relate To her it doesn't matter more Its chasms have been leapt And she leans upon the skepticism of her chosen fate Stand tall, you spittle-smattered son of man Stand up, you hear them say To slap you down and kick your teeth And smile across the bay Irrelevant eloquent pleading Wasn't what she did this year She passed it by and told a lie And shed a crystal tear For him to see, from valley's edge From 0plateaus in the sand And yet he has beshit himself For being just a man A bragging crowing sort of twit A cast-off shade of pink Who's brought himself and all the rest Unto the very brink Yet that magic urge Continues on and plays continuum A song of pleasure and of pain Until that will be done (Contributed by Andy & Spryte - June 2004)

    


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