Old Man Spoon Withers

he might be your janitor
he might drive a bus
whatever he is
its not what he is
but how he does it
hes "withers"

portraits of valleys hung on his wall
plauge on his breath
and a rusty spoon in his jaw

he doesnt like porches
he prefers them shadows
alleys and backstreets
dumpster behind your sons daycare
he's "withers"

his front lawn yawned
tire swings and a volleyball pit
miniature eagles on his table
and cups filled with spit
he's "withers"

wine satisfies
a boy that died
so a fridge supplies
what pervades his mind
in the tiny box that he fills
he's "Withers"

boy likes his sinnin
you could tell
cause he grinnin
hed drive you to soccer practice and leave y'in the rain
spoon likes his skin, but hed rather rape your brain

he's "Withers"
and he'll wither on
a dusty road
or in a yellow toothed lie
he'll lie
he's "Withers"



there might be one in your town