Triptych III: Cold Comfort

Let him sleep, he gotta rap tomorrow
He’s got a special seat in the back of the car
Practice your part, quit acting bizarre
Play the back, don’t tear the care package apart
Black isn’t dark enough, craft isn’t art
Accidents happen, ask Captain Picard
A crash in the market like smashing your cart
In the back of a car in the parking lot — smart
Starting off markedly marred on your Argosy
Arch and sardonic, sarcastic remarks
No flattery, march down to Battery Park
Where a Tombstone awaits you, Robbie, I’m sorry
Spine-tingling, don’t touch his body
My story is hardly minority
Already by ignoring me, you’ve marred my authority
Lights out — pass the narc
Rub your lips with laudanum, baby
«Knock yourself out.»
Let her be, she had a long hard day
Eyes hidden like Wong Kar-Wai
In no «mood for love,» it’s a hard slog
Under the duvet, she covets a guard dog
Takes precautions like Werner Herzog
Weighs her options to turn her hurts off
Major obstacles plague her obstinate
Onslaught, thought bubbles pop like dot com stock
Comstock law, keep your thoughts on lock
Non-hot, it’s wrong to want to watch
A pawn dishonoured, debauchery gone soft
Gotta be on the sauce. Stop, I want off!
Fond of her face, haste to bring laud
Barometer replaced the king cod
The drama was a waste? I think not
I promised her a place to drink scotch
And monitor the plot of the modern Madonna’s honour guard
They thought of her as common, but hot as a sauna — not a problem
Atomic panic, quantum mechanics
You wanna get calm but can’t — you’re not a laudanum addict! NO!
Rub your lips with laudanum, baby
«Knock yourself out.»
You only want to settle your nerves, eh?
Get a little of what they peddle or purvey
I’ll put on any blinker they invent for me
Known to be the number one tincture of the century
Injury came pleasantly, began to reel
It rendered me insensible in Flanders' Field
Like «Surrender Dorothy,» a fog has drifted over me
It’s Robert Smith and Morrissey cavorting with Emma Bovary
Had I only known the Mona Lisa was stoned silly
I would have got stronger off things that won’t kill me
No, really, I figure it’s a risk
That I missed in the midst of mixing ignorance and bliss
In the misty dusk/twilight; only problem
Is I just wanna die like Jolie Holland
And I don’t care how, this ain’t a passion play
I’m getting out the old-fashioned way
Rub your lips with laudanum, baby
«Knock yourself out.»