Taken from Walt Whitman's "Song of Myself", from _Leaves of Grass_)



1 You there, impotent, loose in the knees,

Open your scarf'd chops till I blow grit within you,

Spread your palms and lift the flaps of your pockets,

I am not to be denied...

Mine is no callous shell,

I have instant conductors all over me



[repeat 1]



2 I merely stir, press, feel with my fingers,

...and that's about as much as I can stand.

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END OF city.slab.horror FILE



--

Dave Watson, Severed Heads Liberation Front (Re-release the _Stretcher_ EP!)

Frezier Balzoff (Ottawa), Ontario, Canada Email--aj153@Freenet.carleton.ca

"A man is measured by the depth of his anger."--Eddie

"Everyone in this room is wearing a uniform, and don't kid yourself!"--Zappa