There's a fire on Junk Island where they send their garbage is anybody listening? After work we'll watch the seagulls diving in and out of the lashing towers of flame. It twinkles like a pile of rotting jewels left to bake in the sun. Is anybody listening? We're just like those condom wrappers: used up torn up thrown away. And we're just like yesterday's headlines: drifting, floating, towards the blaze. If we rob the liquor store we could be in Tijuana by the crack of dawn. If we rob the mayor's mansion we could pawn his pawn his modern art and make a fortune. If we rob the lonely widow we could steal her credit cards and buy a cottage by the ocean. If we swim to Junk Island we'll burn up like the seagulls and the whiskey bottles. We're scrapped valentines. We're tangerine rinds. We're crimes, crimes, crimes, crimes, crimes. [x4] And the children in the subway eating apple cores. Is anybody listening? They're breathing paint out of plastic bags. Their mumbled mouths say: "Is anybody listening?"