Bus Driver Man

Drowning yourself in a sea of distinary

And animals dead on their backs

You hurry to switchblade the maker of paper

With stitches that wind down her hat

Finally you have found a piece of mind


This is satan’s song

You must sing along


In your shoes and the mistake of martians

That buzz in my brain like a seed

And a leech on the index of a holy subject

Will algebra bite

Till it bleeds

Appears On

Baby Teeth 1