a shape of beauty
on the lip of slavery
a shape of beauty
crossing the southern cross
in the bush,
a shape of beauty
when a bongo man a come
remembering a dance for black-mesa.
a strech of flavour and signs into the Tamasheck's tongue,
spoiled, betrayed, tracked down
like the Tasmanian tiger.
Rambling tlak, rambling talk, Jo!
a shape of glory on the pupil of poverty
I'd brek up into the jive'talk of beggar's prophecy,
into the faint differences of shade, in the hand of the bass
riding the algebraic comet.
a shape of beauty
on the lip of slavery
crossing the southern
cross in the bush,
when a Dublin'suburb whispered a smile to sadness.
Rambling tlak, rambling talk, Jo!

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