Blackman lunging forward
Recovering from your earnestness by
gushing, bracing yourself in it
Holding your sublime incidents
in midair and in vogue
and loving it so
I don't
know
what you
know
And god's only excuse to you is that he did not exist
How a man must have suffered to be in such a need of playing the clown
I don't mean god I mean the clown who played him
'Round midnight, 'round midnight
Blackman returning home and finding god's one excuse to make it
