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Johnny, Bring Me The Gun
I'm calling your name.
Come down the stairs,
Washing the damp walls.

Scurry about,
Collect the papers,
Find the holes
And patch them up.
Patch them up.

Come down the stairs.
Scale and climb,
Run your fingers against the wooden grain.
It's time to go.
Time to go.

Feel your way down,
Pass the pigeon-blood red walls,
And step down the carpeted stairs.
I'm waiting for you here.
Come quickly,
No time to waste today.

Come as swiftly as you can.
I left the the silk work upstairs.
Safe keeping is the best way to keep.
It's raining, don't keep me waiting too long.

We're about to get wet, soaked,
I felt this before, leaking.
Inside, it's time to run,
Past the deep ochre hallways.
We really must go.

Bring me the gun,
We're not fooling anyone here.
Let's hurry up and go.
It's raining outside.

 2003 David Greg Harth @ 296 NYC