wrap the chain around the anvil
and love any anyways,
even with the help
of tyrosine and hydroxytryptophan.
I've learned to heed warnings,
but not to run and hide,
now we got weapons
of love and the future.
let's go back in time,
and run around Greenwich Village
around the foul fun year of 1961,
maybe then books will remember.
in 2020, as I am leaving,
I am weary as hell,
because of coffers,
so maybe I'll stay a slugabed.