so far so good this is what we've gathered:

her metallic hearts' soviet winter rains triangles
on my escapade the delusional fog of sleeping and
waking half-baked hardcore sore this tune-dumb sun
of ours is strumming upon the nagging nutsack of
preposterous clouds and should you see me walking
down the street turn the other way choose wisely
way past the united states of america laundromat
just shove one quarter in one of them machines baby
or pleasant to be for to be at liberty unmolested
yes yes this poem's called sensitivity it's about capitalism
and the way she looked that night that the gigantic birds
of prey made swoopy and swoosh to feed her confusion
that sent illusion skipping stupid that she couldn't stand