Babylon, Babylon Poem by Pierre Rausch

Looking straight into people
Talking a mile a minute
Remind them of that
The oil on a ode of paper
Several of them went away
Pulled back from the motordrome
The building opposite the street
I don't need no further
At nine I was still drunk
A sharp turn of quite a lot
She was about to begin
This is our everything holiday
Babylon, Babylon
Would come earlier then
Reasoning always led
And now I had done this
Babylon, Babylon
From these cars to check
In a way each relied
And when he seemed wrong
He always had a second door
So folding the papers
When he was to carry out
To act upon instructions