The Seattle Star

Green grass grows around the backyard shithouse and that is where the Sunday Comics bloom. We are flowers growin’ in God’s garden, and that is why he spreads the shit around.

Sunday, why you’re so complicated for me, twilight? Waiting on the planet to turn to me, dark side…If loving you’s a felony now, then I’m a renegade, riding, trying to read the Comics ain’t easy ’til you dive in swimming pools.

Got questions with no answers. Can’t help me out, I need a friend, I’m losin’ faith in this world of sin. Tryna make ends meet with a week, no sleep; it’s like a cycle that never ends. I can’t contend with no handlin’, I can’t take care of no grown man — all by myself, cryin’ for help, but won’t get saved by no Superman. All comes down to the mighty dollar, greed and lust, abusin’ power. Clock is tickin’, hour after hour makes me wanna throw my hands and holler.