Lyrics I Am the Secretary - Beep Beep
Mothers
clad
in
Coach
leather
Are
swarmed
in
litigation.
I
am
the
secretary.
I
rub
their
case
files
Generating
heat
to
release
perfume.
I
fill
their
shoes
with
the
lift
of
hot
air.
I
burn
their
bridges
on
their
lunch
breaks
Faking
full
schedules.
I
dabble
in
the
art
of
lobby
stall.
I
am
the
slow
trickle
filter
On
the
tap
of
rushing
divorce
force.
I
dine
on
the
marriage
corpse.
At
my
desk
I
generate
Days
of
auto
pollution
spat
out
from
the
scorched
patience
F
fenced
fems
on
repeat
lobby
attendance.
Motoring
in
the
grid
- a
pressurized
wavy-lined
road
roast.
The
lid
whistle
screams
in
a
chorus
of
horns.
Their
asses
red
and
flustered
From
a
regimen
of
cush
upholstered
smothering.
Their
elastic
bras
bulge
In
a
12-hour
life
grip
As
the
stitched
metal
fingers
chip
enamel
From
lingerie
hoops.
A
serum
of
skin
salt/herbal
lotion
Spackles
the
strangled
wheel
at
ten
and
two
o'clock;
Pumps
pumping
breaks
in
a
repetitive
rock.
I
am
the
fulcrum
where
client
and
counsel
meet.
I
shift
leverage
to
teetering
lawyer
leaches
That
feed
me
with
loyalty
checks
From
the
tipped
scales
of
their
spouse-dishonered
hosts.
I
burn
them
all
on
the
phone
with
empathetic
friends
In
similar
shitty
lives.
We
wade
daily
through
the
hot
grid
To
formalize
these
hustles.
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