Creating filtered version of banner image.

Be the Mule Blog

The poor suit

We wake and we write

tomorrow is our time

tatto sagging ines

Over in the neighborhood

walking for my breakfast

Put my feet on the edges

Of the curb, the birds bouncin

Like kiddies in the clubs

In Budapest or Gurns

Murdered by the beat

Are hate, come relief

Little sun little shade

Is she lazy or afraid?

Brings me knifes 

Brings me forks

Lemonade bread and corn

Don't call it a bar

If its for greens

Don't call me hopeless

I've been called everything

How bitter can we be

She's not gonna get naked

its TV

She's a tramp and a tease

Prostituting what she needs

Plastic cover 

And there's signal here

Al Gore in a suit

barely holding all its contents

Growing like a tumor

Making speeches out of rumors

Thats how they call him

They paint him wild boy

He's not wild

He just wants some attention

We all know the Earth is shattering

Be the first to respond!

Post a comment