Underblanket of the soul,
the old, old soul,
full of fluff and dustmites,
patched and ragged,
but warm
Underblanket of the soul
underpinning
the skin
underwriting
the veins
Security blanket with a teddy-bear head,
ears well-sucked. You need a busload of faith, said Lou Reed
Several truckloads, Lou,
rolling into your town,
rolling into my town,
rolling down the highway, the scab of a highway,
stereos pumping,
blasting past the silence
Power tools grinding, sanding
the layers, sucking
the fat, finding
the arteries, exposing
the nerves, growing
the dendrites, extending
the tendrils, culturing
new organs, nurturing
new skin,
bandaging, sheeting, blanketing, wheeling,
truckin’ on down to my town
blasting across the South Sea to my town
A Lear jet, a rocket
ship, a cruise
missile,
landing on my nose, putting out my eyes
shredding my eardrums and ripping out my tongue
warm and cosy and blind and dumb