Put your hands over your eyes. Jump out of the plane. There is no pilot. You are not alone. Standby. This is the Comics. And this is the Sunday of the Comics. This is the time. And this is the record of the time.
I follow Victor to the sacred place. This ain’t a dream, I can’t escape. Molars and fangs, the clicking of bones — spirits moaning among the tombstones.
“I don’t want to be buried in a pet cemetery, I don’t want to live my life again.”
How do you say delicious? How do you say delovely? How do you say delectable? How do you say divine? How do you say deSunday? DeComics? How do you say Deee-Lite?
I like to sleep until the crack of noon, midnight howlin’ at the moon — goin’ out when I wanna,
comin’ home when I please. I
don’t have to ask permission if I wanna read the Comics. Never have to ask for the keys.
Reading Sunday Comics, smoking rat weed…Well, you reap what you sow when you plant the seed. Bum cheese on rye with ham and prosciutto, got more Louie than Phillip Rizzuto. What goes around comes around–
An antidote for your doom, despair, and breast-beating about climate change and capitalism in our latest Free Thing.
Know your rights! Number 1:
You have the right not to be killed. Murder is a crime, unless it is done by a policeman
or an aristocrat. Number 2:
You have the right to Sunday Comics.
You’ve got a little worry, I know it all too well. I’ve got your Sunday Comics, but so does every kiss and tell who dares to cross your threshold, or happens on your way. Stop laying blame, you know that’s not my thing.
Rosenbergs, H-bomb, Sugar Ray, Panmunjom, Brando, “The King and I” and “The Catcher in the Rye.” Eisenhower, vaccine, England’s got a new queen
Marciano, Liberace, Sunday Comics, goodbye. We didn’t start the fire…
Now I laugh and make a fortune, ‘cuz the Comics are on Sunday
and a world screams, “Kiss me, Son of God!”