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sure, the u-boat pirate in the nuclear suit's cool, but the photograph in my chest's exposed, so let him come over and have a look at my chart, put a tube in me and turn the bed down. I'm not getting the blues, I've got the spots andI'll believe it when I see it on the beach with politics and superstition, boiling over on me, from the pot of cherry bombs and scuba divers in the sun at the equator or in a small hotel room with a hundred humidifiers. The truth about radiation is: just imagine how the bomb feels, Remember your mom when you're as unspectacular as the white boy slave song. White Boys ain't got no slave song, so we invented radiation. Who other than us wonder bread shit heads would go out and build an H-bomb When you put it in the ocean, we took care of the prescriptions, your yearbook, bookshelf, and old radio, stubs of pencils from 1990, the screw in your right arm, your blood and your bottles, your credit card collection and your out of court settlement, medallionds and trinkets, Letras de cancionesyour day of the dead banquet table and all these last pieces of yard sale. I'm lost in Boston with a head full of xanax, while they're in the living room watching your TV From Letras Mania