Act Normal (They Won't Suspect a Thing)

Once I’ve torn up their graphs

And burnt all my clothes,

We’ll laugh at all those revolutionary stories

Too many times told,

We’ll run down the streets

With our guitars and beating drums,

Like blood through the artery

Of the heart-attack commandant,

Whose carotid angst won’t fail to sheep

All the bourgeois café critique.

Just act normal –

They won’t suspect a thing.

From their windowless towers,

Where dreams cataract so bitterly,

They won’t suspect a thing.


With a view to apprehend

Those at home with stamps to lend,

We’ll hit the road and fold who sticks,

Try to find wholesale highwaymen

Who choose the fruit, far from ripe,

For pipe-nightmares and rent-a-life.

Instead deal in sunshine laughs the love found

In old, school ties,

Dance the youthful mime

As the radio news cycle ticks over

Underground camaraderie

Just act normal –

They won’t suspect a thing.

From behind big mama’s door,

Where wounded hearts forever linger,

They won’t suspect a thing.

Even if the source was fictive,

Said the boy who always drank his milk,

“You always knew how to make me sing,”

When taking preliminary stance of fisticuffs.

Espress the love from your hearts,

Pour it into each other’s cups,

And you can’t have enough

Until you’ve drunk every last drop.

From the social mechaniac’s cave,

Where opera binoculars aim,

They won’t suspect a thing.

The thrill of the riot will envelop

(your soul, like a plague of locusts),

Rid you of any inhibition,

Pour away your conscience.

Soon you’ll be eaten –

Varnished claws tear at my skin.

We’re waxing dielectric, midnight disinfected,

Can’t remember who is who

And which sins to misgive. I can’t tell

This story’s end,

As my lungs fill with water

In the lake and my heart’s about to sink,

Just act normal –

They won’t suspect a thing.

From law-wrought, pistol-licked,

Leather-stud, armchair-consented liquories,

They won’t suspect a thing.

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