Clawhammer

The sirens cry out morning
As the canvas starts to shake.
Clawhammers stand at crossroads
With their fingers on the brake.

The ravid scrapes converted
To our blissfull welcome sound.
As thums of hikers past
Lie out welcome on the ground.

The couple head to London
As they glide swift down our viens.
And fall strait through their skylight
with their bones layed out in panes.

They slip into a commune
But they soon fall out of place.
And they venture through their arteries
With disfigurment in their grace.

They empty out their pockets
With frivolity and care.
Pay for baccarat and boxing
and a cockfight here and there.

Without a care.