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Your life is a sick operetta
Your mind is painted volcano
You bleat alone in the shadow
By a house that has lost its balcony

You play the rusty chords
You hit a twilight block
You pop you jazz you swing
The gong taught you to fight

They take the cannula and prick
You spit on the doctor and see
The creator standing on his hands
And the clown has judgment day pains

peter, perhaps 'the bell taught you to fight,' gives us a boxing ring, when, like a Pavlov dog, we'd jump into a fight, while in my head someone says, "for whom the bell tolls."