City Calls

Oh the city calls its wild wastes its fortressed breeze to help In the park was Caravaggio's Christ who f**ked the police and put an end to the price of automobile radio heists And did you want to help did you think you'd help? But your help was a hurt A motivational welt Wounds and their salts "And the ill milk in your bones and you whisper to your knees and your two broken collarbones: You want to take a photograph then take a photograph of me!"