John Cale

It was seven oclock in the morning
Too late to handle the day
At home it was only two thirty
The skin on my wrists turning grey
Stood up, wished us good luck
He changed his attitudes twice
The box in the corner shivered in fear
He was tired and hungry for days.
The next year she bought a new stomach
From liverpool made in detroit
Constantly passing old matches
Some sentries and millionaires