Cafe Deutschland or How I Stopped Worrying and Learned to Love My Life

Inspired by the painting, Café Deutschland by Joerg Immendorff, 1980
http://www.artchive.com/artchive/I/immendorff/immendorf_cafeprobe.jpg.html

Hit me again.
I feel so good
I have never felt better than I do
right this minute
Oh yeah....
Look.
The ceiling is so far away and it is mirrored.
I can see myself!
Whoppee!
Can you see yourself?
Of course not, you are there outside the picture
Not lying on the floor with me.
Although if you were here
we could roll under the tables and
and
or
we could stand up and dance
I can stand, I can dance.
Play that funky music, white boy
Really. I can.

They are going to eat me, the dingos.
The mad dogs eat Englishmen,
knives forks spoons ready to go.
I am not cooked, how can they eat me?
Although I am a bit toasted, I think.
slide me onto a platter the other side of the ceiling.
But now its so much better
I will be eaten bit by bit
washed down with mugs of turkish coffee.

Smoke needle pills.
Just give me a hit.
The fiddler, he'll get me stuff.
Oh yeah..mmm that rush.
Maybe I'll grab one of those spoons
round spoons cup cup cup
My hands cup your breasts, pull you to me.
Burning down one night stands
grab a spoon and a candle-
(Is it candle lighting time?)
and melt it into my veins.

The dingos are in the mirror
As am I.
But I have no flesh.
Empty eyesockets refuse to see.
Laughing because I think I'm still alive
I'm not.
I've been dead for years
Inside.
Play that funky music, white boy.
Lay down the boogie and play that funky music til you die.

So dead, play the eulogy. Please.
I will crawl into the oven to be cooked.
I will be burnt and rise up
smoke trail to the sky.
There is no heaven.
Barbed wire
keeps me in this private hell.
Only place I know.
My private hell.
Hang it with Christmas lights
so no one knows
so no one sees
what I see.
The dingos are hungry and
They was dancin' and singin' and movin' to the groovin'

The flies, flies everywhere...
They eat the dead,
laying little maggot eggs
to finish the job.

The dead have true omniscience.
We see everything
and
you're not going anywhere.

Play that funky music white boy
Lay down the boogie and play that funky music till you die
Till you die
Oh yeah.