Chuck Perrin

four feet to the left of my body sits my gray gandhi
he collects the mishaps that hold my life together
and keeps them off of me
sometimes I get the urge to turn and face them
cruise that cul-de-sac
but I hear him whisper buddy rave on
don’t look back

way up in the towers of babel in the cubicles of conformity
so many mumbles are choosed up and used up
nailin jello to a tree
they got a shit load of chaperones
endless egomaniacs
let’s seal all the elevators turn and rave on
don’t look back

in tortured socks and crepe soul shoes
I tiptoe through the gloom
tripping over these half tone dreams
like some tinseltown cartoon
there’s too much clutter in my existence
it’s time to clear a path
and escape into tomorrow
don’t    look    back