flower-blower flower-flow to god-devil to god go may god guide you now for i
cannot guide you can't no more and long live who gave to me flower-border flower-blow and
even he who hasn't yet singing like a shamizen wrought with a wire tensed
just a stick and a worn tin can at feastfriday’s end sun high on high but for
others that music was not for it 'cause it could not be popular
that music if it's not sung it's not popular if out of tune out of tinkle out of
chink tarantine and still strummed on the tripe of pain the tensed tripe of a
furious physical pain and hurting hurting like a nail on the palm of the hand a
rusty blind nail impaling the hand an open naked heart like a nerve
tense retensed a black blind nail lingering on the palm the pulp of the hand under the sun
while for meager cruzeiros they sell those gourds where a good shape is
the fine thin line of miserly matter form of famine half-baked clay in the spoils
of repulse till others vomit their plastic plates with embroidered borders
in empire style for a measly misery 'cause this is what's popular for the
patrons of the people but the people craft the people create the people contrive
the people are the tonguetricksters the masters of malice with wily ways of wonder
and the vice to improvise probing the passage while oiling the sun's axle
for the lackeys lacking servitude almost pure metaphor the people il miglior fabbro
with their rhymed martelo galopado on the sieve of the impossible in the lives of the unviable
in the crucible of the incredible of their rhymed galope martelado and oil and axle of sun
but that string that string that bladestring that irksome moaning molar like
a demented string tolling its tuneless wailing widowed ring like a famished red pale
fire flower-blower flower-flow flower-border flower-blow flower-glower flower-blo'
because i cannot guide no more see this book this consumable commodity this god-devil
givetodevil book that i array and disarray then put together and take apart waggage
of a wanderer in the whirling of the world may god's will may devil guide you because i
cannot guide cannot glide cannot ride cannot stride cannot stray cannot trade but in my
meager things my cents my rings in my ten in my fewer than in my
nothings in my pains my antennas in the radios in those things so trivial
immaterial we call trifles viewing vervaine sugars or sugar lilies amaryllis or
petty circumstance all of that i know is worthless is cheerless i don't
know but listen how it sings praise how it tells taste how it moves and don't ask
me to guide you unask me to guide you unguide me to ask you a promise
to trust you and let you forget me and leave you forgive me for unbitter in the
end i'll be right in the end i'll go back in the end i'll make right and for the end
keep me right and you'll see that i'm right and we'll see what is done who has ways
for through crooked i went straight weaving one he wove all and if i don't
guide less regret for the master who taught me no longer gives teaching a baggage
of worldvision in a split-second illusion going back i went straight deftly turned
the evil ways i don't guide 'cause i don't guide 'cause i can't guide and please don't ask
for remembrance but dwell in my moments disobey my command and don't trust but defy
or confide or abide that through yes or through no for myself i'll take no
in the if of the yes put the no in the e of the me put the no and the no will be your mot