that was the year...

that was the year I bought a bank and taught the tellers to dance. most banks look the
same, injection needles, feeding tubes, blue sky, a clock or two and all that coin.
my bank stood out, the dancers, the way your hand looks sometimes right after
shaving drunk. my bank was a plan, cash to buy cash. we were marauders afar of
dry land. we pulled off the shoulder and when people asked us if we needed help
we said stand by, we’re waiting for further instructions. they came, by pony
express, the horse ridden by saint anthony of padua who had a three day beard and
only that one letter in his satchel. money is an invention was all it said.

that was the year we said fuck that and we spent motherfucker. we bought inventions.
we bought another bank so we could spend more. we wore too much lip gloss
and used the word thing to describe any object. we stepped on anyone. everyone. we realized that some music only works in some years. who knew we’d need so much. who knew killing could be done from such a distance. the whole world a market square, a television magazine as if that were a real thing. we grew fat, we went off our heads and everyone, milk-shake makers, born-again bakers, cold cops and pretty little priests, they all joined in like a sudden ending.
yeah bring it to me, bring your sweet love, bring it on home to me.