Pena - Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band

Pena, her little head clinking

Like a barrel of red velvet balls

Full past noise

Treats filled her eyes

Turning them yellow like enamel coated tacks

Soft like butter, hard not to pour

Out enjoying the sun

While sitting on a turned on waffle iron

Smoke billowing up from between her legs

Made me vomit beautifully

And crush a chandelier

Fall on my stomach an' view her

From a thousand happened facets

Liquid red salt ran over crystals

I later band aided the area

Sighed, oh well, it was worth it Pena pleased but sore from sitting

Choose to stub her toe

An' view the white pulps

Horribly large in their red pockets

«I'm tired of playing baby», she explained

An' out of, uh, blue felt box let escape

One yellow butterfly the same size

Its dropping were tiny green phosphorous worms

That moved in tuck an' rolls that clacked

An' whispered in their confinement

Three little burnt scotch taped windows

Several yards away

Mouths open to tongues that vibrated

An' lost saliva

Pena exclaimed, «That's the raspberries»