Taken from Walt Whitman's "Song of Myself", from _Leaves of Grass_)
1 You there, impotent, loose in the knees,
Open your scarf'd chops till I blow grit within you,
Spread your palms and lift the flaps of your pockets,
I am not to be denied
Mine is no callous shell,
I have instant conductors all over me
[repeat 1]
2 I merely stir, press, feel with my fingers,
and that's about as much as I can stand

END OF cityslabhorror FILE

Dave Watson, Severed Heads Liberation Front (Re-release the _Stretcher_ EP!)
"A man is measured by the depth of his anger"--Eddie
"Everyone in this room is wearing a uniform, and don't kid yourself!"--Zappa