Felix dreaming in a house of shards
A shattered stream flows in his veins
The hacking trough between his knees
Holds mucus for the pens of thieves.
The smoldering light of a smoky moon
Paints downbeat shadows on his eyes
A Cheshire scat to bring the news
Of top hat Felix and his high-hat blues.
Dishpan bands in an elevator draft
Flow hither and yawn to the viselike script
Tales that wagged the dogs of summer
Frozen in time by the hands of the drummer.