A Variant of Mescaline

What a face
Lips on fire
Contusions at its throat
What a man spitting out words in a venomous tone
Stick him in an unmarked holding tank
Pay the rail fare, take the subway home
What a look
Leather in drag
Anachronistic common-minded punk
Belonging to a place that existed once but ceases to exist here anymore
Stick him in a library with books pressin up against his skin
Pay the rail fare, take the subway home
We were on a variant of mescaline, runnin down the highway
Hellhounds on our tails
Explosions, confusion, cops in passing cop cars
Run him up without bail
You will not become anybody else
You will arise
You will