calendars in glowing space. faces in glowing spaces. glowworms
in the powwow flames. flames really are alive, you know. They're
flameworms, come from the very beginning. They were the ones who
carried our organics down from the stork comets and planted them
in the nourishing ooze in the lee of that volcano.

Yes, all life began at the foot of Volcano Alpha. Where is he? Why,
he's melted -- he's been subducted under the Indian Ocean. All his
molecules rearrange, traveled 10 thousand miles in the crustal coriolis
currents -- you know, you feel them as litle creakings in your house --
and he took part in the great Krakatoa explosion. exciting for him.
But we, we have no monument nor location for our most important obelisk.

We no longer can see the asbestos tables & chairs the fireworms used
as they discussed our potential features, as they sliced and diced our
futures in their fiery tongs. But, then, they fled this earth for the stars,
which is why, my boy, we are without fire most of the time, unless
lightning sets off a nearby tree.

lighting and its nearby triage. lightning bolted down on a table. we're
going to give it life with the application of 50 thousand volts of flesh.
Lightning triage, just like Operation, but here if you buzz the edge,
you'll get a killing shock. But how can you not even try, when you
look at the blinking moist cow eyes of the lightning bolt, sizzling with
hot plasma tears on the table? They really are the most loving and
gentle of creatures -- it's not their fault their love affair with the earth
often has such devastating consequences. Not their fault their yearning
for the earth results in terrible explosions and fires.

But we're back to our old trucks. Back to our old tracks. Tricks back
on the old trucks. Treats on the flatcars. let's get this halloween train
out of town before the kids get here and pester us for candy. Kids!
Always candy! I heard there's a group of children from this very town
forming a collective to corner the market in candy corn and smarties,
driving up the price -- one dime per kernel! a quarter a smartie! Luckily
they tarred and feathered em and ran em outta town on a rail, so the
halloween train's got some extra cargo this trip.

Those old hollow bums and their old hollow bottles. The bums burst
and their owls. The bums, their towels, and their owels. Those bums
with their burning bums. They are the thrillseekers of daily living -- takes
some fuggin endurance to throw a burning bottle into your comfortable
suburban existence. Into your fundamental suburbs. Why do it? Fuckin
I don't know...ask me again in 100 lives.

based on "Busdriver Rex"