My traffic lights turned a green after I collide
And shine their emptiness down on my split head
The white sheet saturates with my bloodstream
'Cause this traffic menace is dead
And the wind screams Mario
Will the wind ever remember?
The Latinos whose heads blew up in the past
And with its crutch, its old age and its wisdom
It whispers "no, because this country smells like ass"
And the wind cries Mario
My eyes water with your beautiful prose
For the lad with his head laid bare
I shake my head and curl my toes
As I notice his creepy stare