Love Is America Spelled Backwards - Thought Industry

«My girlfriend and I are quite poor.

So we crash funeral gatherings for the

free food

Hell, everybody’s so busy crying and consoling;

they don’t even notice us in

the coatroom pillaging their clothes and purses

It’s too bad that you can’t run very far on an orbiting space colony.»

I) Garden Greenroom, Battle Creek Funeral Simulation

Type writehead collide

Tap tap paper tie

Prolific benign.

Fill me throat cheap rye

I breathe a funeral foyer

Me with glue girl Margaret

Now she’s kissing me

We drink gin till we can’t see

Pâté brunch for symposium

Pink balloons drape the coffins

It reads no systole

I spill scotch on the body

Shit smile prom night

Rational hick life

Self-hypnosis guide

Exuberance lactize

I hear a song on the radio

So I spit on the dial

Now she’s kissing me

We snort scotch till we’re plastic

There’s a gimp with a yo-yo who say’s Pepsi owns Tokyo

He says pardon me

Let’s bury the body

Hey, hey let’s drive to the grave

Now our cars are a gay parade

He says, «Hey, hey

Let’s drive to the grave

We’ll bury meat on a rainy day.»

Human Landfill

I trip to walk

Margaret hands me a Librium, I say «thanks for the confidence

«Now she’s kissing me, my flask of Chaska’s empty

I stumble up to the podium, and push down the Reverend

They’ll yell, «Eulogy»

So I pass out on the body

Hey, hey fill in the grave

Shovel mud on a deity

I say, «Hey, hey

Fill in the grave, then steal the collection tray

Pack some mud on the pious meat

Pack some mud on Uncle Sam

God bless the grime