| Marc Bolan, poet of psychedelia, communicates with unicorns and beautiful women |
| 01.22.08 | No Comments |
STRANGE ORCHESTRAS
From My People Were Fair And Had Sky In Their Hair…(1968)
M.Bolan
Saw a face in a conical of lace, it was a strange orchestra
Mannikin skin pounding on a bass-drum, strange orchestra
Lilliputian, evil in the eyes of the man with the leaf harp
He lusts for the urchin hiding under mountains of moleskin
A big cat like t-tyrannosaurus going to Lilliput
The ensemble make a tiny rumble, the celloist solos
The sky blackens and the bass string slackens and they stand statuesquely
Then they giggle and they wiggle through the door in the big dark oak tree
From My People Were Fair And Had Sky In Their Hair…(1968)
M.Bolan Broken English words cracked the air like a bell
She had a chateau in Virginia Waters
Free from all those culture vultures
Her silver car a silver cloud cloaked the air in a shroud
Her pearly author’s teeth tore the seasoned cedar coloured pheasant Her one rich wish is to write a book about
A venetian mother’s problems on a barge in little Venice
She peers at the portrait of her poetess grandmother
Who’s theatrical in character
Wise just like Socrates
She sinks her nails into the aged canvas
But the power from the wordster’s head was cool and shrill and frightening
Miss Drag is intermingled with the powder-blue chaise lounge
She types some acid words to her hairless havana art dealer
Her one rich wish is to write a book about a chateau in Virginia Waters
Free from all those culture vultures
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