aching to pupate

aching to pupate

aching to pup-p-p-pate

pu-pupate

pu pate

pu-pate

pu-pupate

pu pa-ate. i should peddle butterflies

there's a shortage in the city

i'll stand on the street corner

all myserious and giddy

when the passers by pass by

i will open up my trenchcoat

they will see the butterflies

dangling like fake rolexes. every morning i wake up

with a purpose and a smirk

i'll put on my fake moustache

i'll drink heineken eat cornflakes. then i'll call my mum and dad

tell them that i'm doing fine

or i'll write a tipsy letter

to a real good friend of mine

or i'll jump upon the bed

waltzing madly with the broomstick

but before i leave the house

i will paint my lips with lipstick. but peddling is a dirty sport

there's competition in the city

everyone is on a street corner

all mysterious and giddy. some are selling bags and shoes

some are selling books and gold

i've been standing here for days

not one butterfly's been sold. and how i'm

aching to pupate

aching to pup-p-p-pate

pu-pu-pate

pupate

pupate

pu-pu-pate

pu pa-ate.