Solaria For Enervated Saints

Where just pretending is dreaming
A man from America, shoots after mimicking the warfare
Of a mirror shave

Forgotten ages of let go stinge, just eliminating hunger
In exchange for citizenship
Here he bathes like a pound of flesh does not forget him

Hesdon does not color inside the lines
But does take a more practical step towards the pretentious fallacy
Of his mid-life dream of leaves of tormented sky

Hesdon cannot untie his shoestrings
He will however instruct you on the finer art of what you should wear
Like a domesticated pony in the role of a saboted saint in a major key

Cat Power beheaded Hesdon for the final drift
There were no more Sunday mud saints
Not like this distilled iron pipe of a frozen endeavor

Not like this lie for the protection of false witnesses
They have all cried the last sport field in the figures of ecological ontology
Carrying the shovel and rough pipe like Dormobile caustic platitude of envy oranges

Now carry with this last biscuit of marked hunger and assuasive chemical evenings
Be a man now in the grocery list of mattered place
We will not know where or how history dominated us at the ashtray homebearing