The servants of men are doing their thing
Eyes glazed like 2 year apples
After a while can’t tell what you’re looking at
Mouths shooting the shit
On work to their wives,
On their wives to their friends
They set the clocks back
Forward, back
As if this thing they can
Fuck with it
Like their friends and their wives
(Do not fuck with their work)
And as they knock
The apples from the trees
With a long stick
Apples they’ll never eat
2 year apples they’ll never drunk
We sit, burying their watches
In the hollow
