disposable soul - Shrug

Poor businessman up in space

Remembered Armani but forgot his face

Now he laughs, knows he can never replace

The disposable soul in his hand

Poor businessman, he phones his wife

And says, «Honey, I’m sorry, I’ve signed over my life»

Now she sits alone in late afternoon light

With a disposable soul in her hand

And love is in the air

It’s floating out of sight

Don’t you worry, it’s up there somewhere

Disposable souls travel light

Poor businessman examines a shelf

Of vicarious wonders, but never himself

«Oh well,» he says, «I've still got my health.

My disposable soul’s in my hand.»

Poor businessman reads Kerouac

And he thinks of the youth he can never get back

Now he has no choice but to trap and attack

The disposable soul in his hand

And love is in the air

It’s floating out of sight

Don’t you worry, it’s up there somewhere

Disposable souls travel light

You can’t waste your breath with the notion that death

May be hovering outside your window

Or choke on your robes or spraypaint violent strobes

Of some hitherto uncharted rainbow

In a room full of men we become what we are

Like the melting pot princess our mother

Yes, treason is red, but the reasoning’s dead

When disposable souls are uncovered