Listen to the crunching
Music of the crashing
Mopeds all around her
Painted with the burning
Powders of exotic
Funerals that surround her

Chronos feasts on his children
Like turning mango flesh
Will the troubles cease
When she pays off the police?

Infection filled my head like
Springtime flower beds and
Evaporating trash
Pressure in the skull like
Leaking timber hull made
Dreams so wonderful

Chronos feasts on his children
Like turning mango flesh
Will the troubles cease
When she pays the pigs off?