Mélomanie Songtext
von Native Son

On a crude parapet
I questioned Bell′s Theorum and had this passing thought
Ore how many leagues could I unmake this knot
The light low shine
But only in a pour
I read the passage from old Manley's hand
For who is this new invention planned?
Standing shoulder to head
A hands breadth A medicine for a new line of ailment
But over heaping hummock hold my mission
Say to make the merry make my weighed decision
Profoundly hypochondriac
The environment disgusts me all the time, sometimes
But on that crude parapet
Garum of geese all around
I looked ahead and could not see its
Stoney conclusion


But knowing
It was there
I turned upwards

And the embankment
Suddenly broke