Fame throwa de Pavement

Fame throwa pass out the gold, the diamond
watch, the last reward, all the things we had
before you sold us out and took it all.
head-borne cries from zenith sluts, astral
rites from dead-end ruts.
these kids are sick-end wars
"one of the nation's spies.
one of our first recruits.
click with her leather thighs
one of our first ;
how can you know? in the distance lies
a grower, nee rode off, king fame throwa
son of groupie, red-worn sexan: spent his
cash convincing us that the desert was
a starscape and sold our lives for a
satellite so we could cry:
"naked, naked foul" (sic)