[A
day in the life of a waiter/addict with delusions of grandeur.].
Spasm waiter dropping to his knees, sees.
Slander on wrap paper ties.
Lifting up his head he feels the sunlight in his eyes.
Grasp a kettle top and shoot the breeze, please.
Ramble while slop scraper sighs.
Tossing in his bed at night he'll dream until he dies.
Operations at the sink.
The dribble liquid visible beneath his troubled eyes.
Feels it tilt and start to slide.
Mask a pretty hopper's foot with squeeze cheese.
Dangle some grape apple pies.
Tranquil and serene until he runs out of supplies.
Your hands and feet are mangos.
You're gonna be a genius anyway.
Your hands and feet are mangos.
You're gonna be a genius anyway