Poema de: Tom Verlaine

Friction

I knew it must have been some big setup,
Our action just would not let up.
It's just a little bit back by the main road,
Where silence spreads and mended holes.

I start to spin a tale, you complain about my diction,
You give me friction, you give me friction.

My eyes are like telescopes,
I see it all backwards, but who wants hope?
If I ever catch that ventriloquist,
I'll squeeze his head right into my fist.

Some come of(?) trackin' it in, oh what is it, what's the prediction?
I bet you it's friction.

I had to sneak, get out of school, I didn't return.
Oh, stop this head motion said the sales,
You know all us boys are gonna wind up in jail.

Well, I don't want to grow up, it's too much contraction,
And too much friction (friction), but I dig fiction (friction),
In the (?) about fiction (friction), F, R, I, C, T, I, O, N.

Television, Marquee Moon, Double Exposure, 1977