Get that dark urine colored wings on that thing
By healthy god why doesn't the thing fly
it's up to all hours scattering across hard floors
and crumbs and stains will be it's score
The spider legs kick up
we don't know if it's just the reflexes
damn the thing turns turtle front and dives into running
hit the wall and plays dead another hour
Oh the begger must have watched
The pollution offering him insomnia
and the street light a theater to watch the insect they call hideous
and it's antics across the sewer stained streets
The little beast twitches and it's legs bicycle pedal
The many tubes and pipes and drains sweet memories
before the rains
It's short but graceful flight straight into a fly spray mist
It's legs curl up no and it finally seems like life has left it's body
It's shell like body pales and it dries as if death had to breathe it dead
Scraps and rubbish was all it ever sought
There'll be mountains of it for a million roach generations after we are all mort.
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