Toothmarks
Copyright 2001 by Matt Gill

So here’s a little target for the firing squad
Like the fat side of an ass at twenty paces
So free when laden with the spoils of playing God
Is a joker in the deck that’s full of aces.
And my lips, they hurt from grinning
And my heart, it hurts from winning
And my hands, they hurt from sinning
And my tongue still bears the toothmarks of a vampire.

So here’s three kings to trump your pair of jacks and fools
What, only fifty dollars for a virgin?
A little fire can singe quiet Bethesda’s pools
While the Lion dreams of nibbling on the Surgeon.
And my eyes, they hurt from apathy
And my makeup blocks telepathy
And my larder’s full of empathy
And my tongue, it bears the toothmarks of a vampire.

So what dost thou and what art thou oh Angelo?
What time do I have to wake up every Sunday?
To credit cards and borrowed time we owe our show –
The curtain’s up at seven every Monday.
On my face you’ll see the lines of care
Or maybe not for they’re not there
On me you’ll see the clothes I wear
Or maybe snap the mile-long stare:
On time these deeds will see the air…
On my tongue you’ll see the toothmarks of a vampire.


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