On the bus

On the bus today I wrote a song, and it goes-a something-a like this:




A CHOIR OF CRAYONS
Gee I love you very much you are the sweetest thing I ever saw
I'm so glad that I found you, yeah
And I'm really glad I'm singing this (I'm way too drunk to spell)
Each consonant bangs against the head

I just called to stutter
and belch out some colours
you know the world is very red and purple and
yellow and red and purple...

I've been thinking 'bout your gender issues
and your little man moustache
and last night I went on the internet
& stumbled upon a picture of a testosterone-enlaged clitoris
I thought it looke like a little crayon

I just called to tell you that
but I dialled the wrong number yeah
you know it's stupid but I just mistook the 6 for a 9 and the 6 for a 9 and...

...the world is a cornfield of crayons singing

Hallelujah. hallelujah,
all the colours, all colours yeah
we know it's stupid but we've been singing too much and it's colouring
to red and purple and yellow and red...


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After I'd left the bus, and at the end of the day, I imagined the driver cleaning the bus: sweeping up hundreds of leftover little clitoris-crayons.