BRASS BUDDHAS
 
    Flowers open and close. Buses strike
pedestrians. The moon grows hair on bald
heads. Chambers filled with brass buddhas.
    What does it take to get high, when
it's all down hill. Fill the chambers with
brass buddhas. Chambers filled with brass
buddhas.
    The last frontier is the lost frontier.
Chambers filled with brass buddhas. The joke
rides a fine line. The candle flame has no
shadow, I find.
    Fill the chambers with brass buddhas.
Fill the chambers with brass buddhas. Fill
the chambers with brass buddhas.