cops break in bebop boo -- end of that show.
Now it's back to playing with egg timers
beatin the thit out of lousy rhymers.
.
II.
White men dancing at my door in the dark
like a mime troupe out of some David Lynch.
Trick or Treat. They come in, composite spark,
Cheap Tarot card flick. My neck in a cinch.
Carted off to the Bastille masquerade Ball;
force fed the Marquis de Sade exhibit;
make love, Marie Antoinette in the hall,
smooth her pathway until she cries ribbit.
I'm a mime at the window of my own life,
defenestrating into my other self,
a merged doppelganger in full frack flight
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