Poets

Spring starts when a heartbeat's poundin'
When the birds can be heard above the reckonin' carts doing some final accounting
Lava flowin' in Superfarmer's direction
He's been gettin' reprieve from the heat in the frozen-food section, yeah

Don't tell me what the poets are doing
Don't tell me that they're talkin' tough
Don't tell me that they're anti-social
Somehow not anti-social enough, all right

And porn speaks to it's splintered legions
To the pink amid the withered corn stalks in them winter regions, yeah
While aiming at the archetypal father
He said with such broad and tentative swipes Why do you even bother?, yeah

Don't tell me what the poets are doing
Those Himalayas of the mind
Don't tell me what the poets been doing
In the long grasses over time

Don't tell me what the poets are doing
On the street and the epitome of vague
Don't tell me how the universe is altered
When you find out how he gets paid, all right

If there's nothing more that you need now
Lawn cut by bare-breasted women
Beach bleached towels within reach for the women gotta make it that'll make it by swimmin'