Vic Chessnut)





pleasure is melting like chocolate

my blue ribbon gumption is gone

all my gravy must have soaked into something

and the world...

the filthy steps, the cold concrete

the phony earth below my feet

the ancient odor of the streets

yes the world it is a sponge

and when the crisis passes

when the coast is clear

I'll be buffed down to a liquid

and the world it is a sponge

throughout this entire ugly outing

I've been mumbling the convex of what I should be shouting

but I'll soon be silent you'll soon hear nothing

'cause the world it is a sponge