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• Artiste: Trader Horne
• Titre: The Mutant
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He is a the faker that sits by the river Holding winged insects in front of his eyes Face of the aged but feared they would wither Living their lives, just fearing to die Cardboard and leather and synthetic fiber Don't cover his body or flutter his mind The earth is like Heaven and the water like cider He walks on the ground and he flies in the sky Monk in the glass house was breaking his fingers Doing his penance for someone to see The head in the alley was licking his papers And thinking, ?He's thinking he's better than me? He is but wisdom who looks on the youngster Thriving, surviving, contriving but free And if in his wanderings, he should pass your doorstep Strike up your matches, there's so much to see