Psychosomatic hazel green .. creeping in-between the seems ,,, a dead rotten roach upon the cold ceramic floor ,,, as the crowd cheers for more

Hunger dripping from their knives ... as they slice through their time ,,, with twisted tails and fiery eyes ,,, before the fat lady cries

It ain't what it is ,,, when all it was, was nothing ,,,
Upon a chair ,, witnessing as he slices though his rugged wrist watch ,,, spilling low fat frosting upon the wooden floor ,,, hard stains following the cold war ,,, inscribed within the cold sore ,,, as the widow says no more

Wait! my dear mentor ,,, there's one thing left ,,, how about a cup of pee ... there beneath the skinless tree ,,, where i shall bring forth the offspring of your patronizing speach ,,, Behold the dark bleeding roots of history ,, crawling across the slayn leaves of hypocricy ,,, to paint a dead picture of subtle conformity

I give you this to last for the least of time ,, come on , walk with me, let's head towards the closest sunset , far from the sea, or any human being, far from the deserts, the greens, the hills , the mountains and the trees , into my dark alley, where i bring to you, this bitter irony!