Winnebago Skeletons

There's a fish in my stomach a thousand years old

Can't swim a full circle, the water's too cold

Burnt out cars in my fingers, conveyor belts flow,

right angles and steam whistles, nothing can grow

A big-antlered deer stepping into the road,

a beautiful woman with her head in the stove

The skyscrapers crumble heavy with rats

The wind's full of beer cans and whiffle ball bats

This fish in my stomach wears a full length mink,

but his teeth float in sherry in a jar by the sink

He's the withered remains of Rin Tin Tin

taking his new Cadillac out for a spin.

The endless sea of traffic lights never make a sound

like Ben Franklin's electric kite crashing to the ground

and the Winnebago skeletons beneath this bankrupt town.