there's a hole in my sock where my shoe always bites it
and that's got to stop or else I'll feel foolish at the sock-hop, yeah
the sacraments slouch near the garnish toupet with ceramic
my name's marcus and I'm a martian mime
well, of course I'm a mime
where do you think I got this scoop of
scottish cheese and not a brick from brown government buildings?
there's a cloud in my clock where the seconds always chide it
and that's got to stop if I'm going to ride aboard the herbivore, yeah
whose hourglass fingers look starved through the mask
my name's cassius and I've metamorphosized
into a nosy guest talking dresses made of pheasant breasts
from magazine gown gazebo and a red-sabred pompous horseman
there's a glare from my smock where a cardinal ate his shadow
and that's got to stop if I'm going to garnish an accorn souffle
the clowns kneel down and pray that
the police will go away
after first giving them back their balms
so they can swat eachother's
bearded faces once again
once again
there's an "oh my" and "my goodness" genuflecting as in battle
and that's got to stop if I'm going to convert a bouncing chan marshall
