minus 59, 58, 57, sleep
and tell me all about your dream
at the psychiatrist on the couch I redeem
…. chasing the hare chronometric device in hand
I’m late! I’m late! he flew across the land
the members of the band dressed up in yellow tuxedos
awaiting to play sweet music, well orchestrated
all eyes on the meastro, super concentrated
baton in hand, forcing, guiding, pacing the right speed
a lot of strings, untangled - for now - indeed
a tune in my head: the wallrus and the carpenter
the wallrus, young at heart, wearing a white jersey
swallowing all black-yellow oysters, showing no mercy
like a beast
untill there are none
while I am the one
preparing the feast
suddenly the musical squad fellows are wearing speedos
their mohawk hair spraid yellow
kakafonic punk music deafens me
a jolly rotten vibe posesses my body
the crowd starts to pogo
I do want to dance but I’m not asked
my feet are moving anxiously, my shoelaces tied together
57, 58, 59, wake up to reality
guards assist me in my yellow straight jacket back to my cell
all is well