Michael

The sun and the shutters and the sun shattered hair .The butler hesitates at the top of the stairs.A kitten from Great Britain sleeps behind the drapes.An old silver bowl filled with apples and grapes.It's so very cold in the mansion after sunset.The snow is blowing through the baseboard outlets.And I have no idea what drives you, mister.Tanning beds explode with rich women inside.The snow falls down so beautiful and stupid. For the black silhouette of Abraham Lincoln trees. The sky's low and grey like a Japanese table. And my horse's legs look like four brown shotguns.The icicles are dripping like the whole house is weeping. On an evil little car with gull-wing doors. And I have no idea what drives you, mister. But I've killed you in my mind so many times before.