oh come, oh come the world is made of glass and fire-rain. the tumbled pitcher of the sky keeps pouring, the rhythmless fancy of the tide keeps turning, the water turns black-ice and wildfire if given enough time and temperature. the temperature of the world is tilt-graced and tuning in.
the temperature of the world is sticky-goo and mild-mannered; fumble-high and tidal-sigh. the weight of the world of 3.14 tons of triple-twisted tones. the weight of the world, the weight of the world sits with me, has tea, has little crumpet pies. has little trumpet lies, trump-like ties, trumped-up trickle-down economics, Freakonomics, trickle-up the itsy-bitsy spider climbed up the spout again. down came the rain and washed the fighter out – wash the fight out of your ears – wash the light out of your eyes – the only thing it does it clog the listening. wash it out, wash it out, trickle it down (the money, the equality, the rhythm of the night still pounding – flesh tipped and turnip-ed, turned up nose and those that just turned up), pay it forward, pay it back. pay it back, you banking fool, pay it back, you tight rope Carnegie. Pay it back, the world still weighs it down. Pay it back, the world still weighs with waiting. The world still waits to be weighed. To be wooed. To be cooled. Down. Double down, on it, will you? You’ll get your investment back in Time.