Goose-stepping on a soul song
you set the sky ablaze,
and I was not ready to welcome you.

I was hungry and I was thirsty
but could not find the road.
Back and forth, back and forth

walking with the toad. You can guess
my predicament when I said
that, I am, not I would

assult on the chaste fruit
of the moon, growing on the
tall tree of September.