It Will Be Told In Reverse

When I walk down the street I see a parade of snaggletoothed mummers with yellow mucus dripping from their lips, and it seems like on every bench and on the top of every war memorial and in all the alleyways full of shoe shops and coffee houses there are eleven year old girls trussed up like sluts fingering their open cunts. The supermarkets sell dildos and spreader bars, and the people who run the place are all hobgoblins with glass eyes and wooden tails. The streets are crawling with them, the mummers, and they move like they're on caterpillar tracks and their eyes are eggs with broken yolks, and they try to pinch me sometimes.