Green Monkeys - Graham Parker

    In a distant street a distant beat
    Repeats machine gun like
    In a forest grows a sweet fruit
    Filled with poison
    In a clear blue sky a plane bursts into flames
    High above us
    In an office blind machines blink out data
    In a rush
    Whatever they say they say
    It isn't true what they say
    It didn't come from the gays
    The blacks the Haitians
    Or the whores or

    Green monkeys
    Or green monkeys

    Marco Giunco
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