How many more days of this stillness
Before the fire will blow out
restless wind did use to stir it
But its wind-still and the silence is loud
How many more days of disorder
Of [bad word] raving around
I’ve been sleeping down here among minions
Their carelessness scattered about
Trapped in a body that doesn't act on thought
I have a sense of utopia
Of what I [bad word] ought to do
Born onto the tide
Is it really any wonder that I’m here like this
An alliance in body and mind
Such a perfect lover i could [bad word] How many
How many hollow declarations will follow
Lulled into a trance
I have been sitting in congress with [bad word] my perspiring hands
How many attempts will it take to
Bloom in splendorous foul
Now I’m so tender and wingless
Gangling out on the prowl
How many
How many
How many
How many