Oh, my beloved Tania

How I long to see your face

Photogragraphed in fifteen second intervals

Vaults in a bank in San Leandro

A Polaroid of you and Cinque

With a seven-headed dragon

In a house in Daly City



Don't be sad, my beloved Tania

They say your father never liked Steven Weed anyway

Hired a detective

To follow him around



Oh, my beloved revolutionary sweetheart

I can see your newsprint face turn yellow in the gutter

It makes me sad

How I long for the days when you came to liberate us from boredom

from driving around from the hours between five to seven in the evening

My beloved Tania,

We carry your gun deep within our hearts

For no better reason than our lives have no meaning

And we want to be on television