The table fell first
Then the fridge the tv the deep fat fryer the Christmas cards
The phone line was dead
And the house followed
In the wreckage a broken sideboard used as a chair
I rearrange the corpses and play let's pretend
I engage them in a survey— questions like Jack
quick and nimble, nimble and quick
If you draw lips on an egg, is it suddenly your sweetheart?
If I brought you up to respect curfews, would you cut me some slack?
Are you a suave reflection of a bad man walking backwards?
At the edge of a scream is there no turning back?
Oh how singing in silence can bring on appendicitis
But they don't know because they refuse to join me in the wreckage
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