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As the grossness of spring lolls its head against the window As the grossness of spring lolls its bloodied head Curare! Curare! Curare! brogue cries from the street Curare! Curare! As the grossness of spring rose a tumor balloon to squeak against the window With the grossness of spring staining into the walls The chair had been shifted ever so slightly say five feet or two centimeters The prints of my fingers dusted from doorknobs A lamp had been dimmed Some sawdust where a ring had been Where nice girls were turned into whores Gardens with fountains where peacocks had strutted Where dead children were born The splendor of tigers turning to gold in the desert Pale meadows of stranded pyramids Sonny boy such a sonny boy there's a song in the air Curare! Curare! Curare! But the fair seniorita doesn't seem to care Curare! Curare! Curare! As the grossness of spring lolls its head against the window SongtexteAs the grossness of spring lolls its bloodied head I merely got up so slowly Shuffled across the floor Closed the door on the landing descending the stairs dipping into the street the paralyzed street Brogue says "Good afternoon!" I say "Good afternoon!" "Yes, it's a lovely afternoon" Into pockets unstitching so weighted with pins Into eyes imploding on mazes of sins The puddle beneath the cork-- --bobbing on a mild chop that rolled in off the river of Dix and the open water beyond Brogue says "I'LL PUNCH A DONKEY IN THE STREETS OF GALWAY!" Then me "I'LL PUNCH A DONKEY IN THE STREETS OF GALWAY!" Brogue "I'LL PUNCH A DONKEY IN THE STREETS OF GALWAY!" "I'LL PUNCH A DONKEY IN THE STREETS OF GALWAY!" Sonny boy such a sonny boy in her voice there's a flaw Curare! Curare! Curare! Sonny boy bye bye sonny boy e-e-aw and e-e-aw Aus Songtexte Mania