She washed a kitten and had today no answer yetnRegards for people who play always in dismaynMack sleeve on a coat I believe, but she wouldn’t saynnTorn cup, fly up abovenSome paper lie and a tire-track of lovenWould you hit me pleasenGot a liver diseasenNo waiting for the telephonennI walked on frozen banter and end of timenRegards from the people who stare at me and realignnTapped beams coming into the seams in this coat of minennWay up, from up abovenTorn paper lines and a tire-track of lovenWould you hit me pleasenGot a liver diseasenAnd wait for the telephonen