You can run, you can run,
Tell my friend-boy Willie Brown.
And I'm standing at the crossroads,
Believe I'm sinking down.

The old plastic man
He stares from the shrinky dink
Spectacle faces.
Rick rocking splinters
Constant, squeaking, manical
Inane worry lines.
Cycle of forget
His mind drips from hearing aids
Lost in the Fog's blur.