What we once thought we had we didn't and what we have now will never be that way again. So we call upon the author to explain. (Doop doop doop doop dooop). Our myxomatoid kids spraddle the streets we've shunned them from the greasy-grind. The poor little things they look so sad and old as they mount us from behind. I ask them to desist and to refrain. And then we call upon the author to explain. (Doop doop doop doop dooop). Rosary clutched in his hand he died with tubes up his nose. And a cabal of angels with finger cymbals chanted his name in code. We shook our fists at the punishing rain. And we call upon the author to explain. (Doop doop doop doop dooop). He said everything is messed up around here everything is banal and jejune. There is a planetary conspiracy against the likes of you and me in this idiot constituency of the moon. Well he knew exactly who to blame. And we call upon the author to explain. (Doop doop doop doop dooop). Prolix! Prolix! Nothing a pair of scissors can't fix!. Prolix! Prolix! Nothing a pair of scissors can't fix!. (Doop doop doop doop dooop). Well I go guruing down the street young people gather round my feet. Ask me things but I don'r know where to start. They ignite the power-trail ssstraight to my father's heart. And once again I call upon the author to explain. (Doop doop doop doop dooop ...). We call upon the author to explain. Who is this great burdensome slavering dog-thing that mediocres my every thought?. I feel like a vacuum cleaner a complete sucker it's fucked up and he is a fucker. But what an enormous and encyclopaedic brain. I call upon the author to explain. (Doop doop doop doop dooop ...). Oh rampant discrimination mass poverty third world debt infectious diseease. Global inequality and deepening socio-economic divisions. Well it does in your brain. And we call upon the author to explain. (Doop doop doop doop dooop ...). Now hang on my friend Doug is tapping on the window (Hey Doug how you been?). Brings me back a book on holocaust poetry complete with pictures. Then tells me to get ready for the rain. And we call upon the author to explain. (Doop doop doop doop dooop ...). I say prolix! Prolix! Something a pair of scissors can fix. Bukowski was a jerk! Berryman was best!. He wrote like wet papier mache went the Heming-way weirdly on wings and with maximum pain. We call upon the author to explain. (Doop doop doop doop dooop ...). Down in my bolthole I see they've published another volume of unreconstructed rubbish. "The waves the waves were soldiers moving". Well thank you thank you thank you. And again I call upon the author to explain. Yeah we call upon the author to explain. Prolix! Prolix! There's nothing a pair of scissors can't fix!