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Oh, my beloved tania |
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How i long to see your face |
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Photographed in fifteen second intervals |
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In a bank in san leandro |
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A polaroid of you, cinque |
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With a seven-headed dragon |
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In a house in daly city |
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Don't be sad, my beloved tania |
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They say your father never liked stephen weed anyway |
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Hired a detective |
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To follow him around |
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Oh, my beloved revolutionary sweetheart |
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I can see your newsprint face turn yellow in the gutter |
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It makes me sad |
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How i long for the days when you came to liberate us from boredom |
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From driving around from five to seven in the evening |
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My beloved tania, |
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We carry your gun deep within our hearts |
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For no better reason than our lives have no meaning |
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And we want to be on television |
