After tales of brave Odysseus passed, too many sirens
still blown down Central to pass Magnolia, silent again
at Rosalind. Some poorboy called the mayor before I
bought some wax to plug the only way I hear. Heard
one sad guy after the blues had swept the clean streets
clean again: he was going to shit in a cup and leave it
as his legacy, on the street. On a one-way street, one
of the sirens, piercing loudly, said no way, go south.