Death Of A Martian

Bear paws and rascal powerWatching us in your garageBig girl you ate the neighborThe nova is overWake up and playBy the radioMake room for Clara's bare feetThe love of a MartianTick tock and waiting for the meteorThis clock is opening another doorLots of love just keep it cominMaking something out of nothinThese are the best that II don't know how to say Losin' what I love todayThese are the best that ILots of love just keep it cominMaking something out of nothinThese are the best that II don't know [what] to say[Look at] what I've lost todayAnd these are the things that IBlood flowers in the kitchenSigning off and winding downThis martain ends her missionThe nova is overShe caught the ballBy the mission bellChase lizards bark at donkeysThe love of a martianLet's bow our headAnd let the trumpets blowOur girl is goneGod bless her little soulLots of love just keep it cominMaking something out of nothinThese are the best that II don't know how to sayLosin' what I love todayThese are the best that ILots of love just keep it cominMaking something out of nothinThese are the best that II don't know what to say[Look at] what I've lost todayAnd these are the things that IShe's got a sword in case though this is not her lord in case the one who can't afford to face her image is restored to grace. Disappeared. No trace. Musky tears. Suitcase. The down turn brave little burncub bearcareless turnip snare rampages pitch color pages...down and out but not in Vegas. Disembarks and disengages. No loft. Sweet pink canary cages plummet pop dewskin fortitude for the sniffing black noses that snort and allude to the dangling trinkets that mimic the dirt cough go drink its. It's for you. Blue battered naval town slip kisses delivered by duck muscles and bottlenosed grifters arrive in time to catch the late show. It's a beehive barrel race. A shehive stare and chase wasted feature who tried and failed to reach her. Embossed beneath a box in the closet that's lost. The kind that you find when you mind your own business. Shiv sister to the quickness before it blisters into the newmorning milk blanket. Your ilk is funny to the turnstyle touch bunny whose bouquet set a course for bloom without decay. get your broom and sweep echoes of yesternights fallen freckles...AWAY!!!