what ocean you talkin bout?

the farm dented insomnia circlers

assemble holed toed

faking unloaded camera fakers

one day decided to smack through the chicken wire

and merely found a globe laid out next door

"where’s this place called the flight?",

noticed a screaming Arabian chess doctor,

while refusing jazz musicians at his door,

cowering at home between nosebleeds,

packing fiberglass into his frightened cigarettes

listen, a trial will begin soon.

the defendants will be the judges.

the jury will read about the verdict from the lips of the executioner,

while somewhere in the courtroom a cool salty air hums,

spitting fire.

so what Ocean you talking bout?

1969