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Just Because You Become Woke in a Dank & Poorly Lit Place is No Reason Not to Say Good Morning
por
Paul Shapera
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Good morning, my dark twilight sweethearts That crawl on the walls of your cave Good morning, things sweet that weep in the deep And wake to a dim, sunless day Good morning, writhing ballet (spoken) It was here, in the dark room with small dots of light and strange crawling things, that the little forgotten meme found herself. She gained consciousness in a tiny little scrap of what had once been a great, metallic spider; alone, unloved, and discarded Good morning, my dark twilight sweethearts That grow never knowing the day The small things obscene that glow and that dream Who lost in the shadowlands ache Good morning, crawling parade (spoken) Movement was difficult and it took her days to find other scraps of small, disregarded pieces of junk, which she attached to herself bit by bit until finally she had built herself a hideous and deformed little insect-like body, but one with which she could crawl around competently
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