Swansong Meat

I suppose, when you wake up
And the dream you goes dodo
You will find, in your front pocket
One of those stubby golf pencils
Convincing living
That you, yourself is convinced of living
Till your kidneys can’t clean the convinced
Out of your true blue blood stream
And are you not now, professionally hoodwinked
An easy street penis throbbing down breezy streets
In a b-line like, easy like, bees like, brokedown icecream truck’s leaks
Convincing
You see, however so slightly permanent
These have been things sung that will never be songs
Oh (x6)
Oh, I suppose
Not swansongmeat
Mor bit nails spit
With strips of skin from chickens' lips
Not wet concrete
No stolen sleep
When the water is sheets and bleeding sheep
Hung horrible hymns to a durable beat, and re-recordable grief
Oh, I suppose