Wednesday, July 11, 2007

Backwards

Antone leaped from bed and gave a reverse striptease,
Dropped loose change in a jar and kept the receipt.
Underdressed in plainclothes, he slid through the streets
Like an otter coated in crude oil.

The wise guys all called him names like gumshoe and flatfoot.
Everyone laughed like it was a joke but shot him bad looks.
He played dice like a cop, but paid bills like a crook,
Plus he lined his cap with tinfoil.

Antone sat on a bridge and stared into the sun until he couldn’t think.
He wrote his stories on the back of chinese fortunes in bloodred ink,
Stuffed them in empty beer bottles filled with rocks and let them sink,
Saying how strange it is that rain makes the sea boil.

Most folks don’t understand him because his voice comes out backwards.
The silence at the beginning of the record is him waiting for answers.

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