LuckyMean Mr. Mustard says
he’s bored with life in the dead stream.
Can’t afford French corner high,
says it gets old real quick.
And he pails up next to me and scrawled on the pavement
Son, time is all the luck you need.
But if I stay lucky then my tongue will stay tied and I won’t betray
the things that I hide. There’s not enough years underneath this build
for me to admit the way that I felt.
Mean Mr. Mustard says
don’t be the wave that crashes
from a sea of discontent
he says he’s wrestled with that blanket.
It leaves you cold and wet
any way you stretch it.
Divide at the feet disease of my youth
and watch that you don’t catch it.
I’m the wave that crashes from a sea that turns it self.
I’m inside out every chance I get to see what it’s like in hell.
There’s not enough years underneath this build for me to admit the way
that I felt