This my weary gait shall we shuffle through
standing stagger driven and wrecked clear
much is needed to make this work
servant or sacrifice to this end I must twist
to what wonder wretched speak, then speak
waxen and held precious a form uniformed
starved for real food and divinity
I will refuse to cast a shadow here
No more art for we are all artists now
No more God for we are all Gods now
Zenith high a Tower stands
Tinder be the thrones of old
So child bow your head and humbly blind thyself
then rise proud fool and praise the still womb
If it burns then let us sing of its ash
And we the plastic scions of Babel to this we reel
The shoulder broken and atlas dosed
Sifting through the blood of nighttime follies
to many cigarettes bring the silence that whiskey can only comprehend
So we can sink and still say we swam, for the glory of nothing
we will cast nothing into the world, yet we shall cast it all
explain for what matters most matter rots
Without kindness we sing of nothing but sound
we do not breath nor allow our self the fear of self
Zero breeds zero from the first kiss to the scalpel prime
A tower to high topples wholly and let its bones be a monument to our new age
spread wide we will all pay for the same transgressions as the first
Joy now and everyone is an artist
Joy now we are all Abortionist
And with eyes blackened by the whole
nerves like tinsel glass and a frame wrecked by humanity
let us ascend victorious on wings of invisible worth
So crash and debris obvious yet still
with tactile and fine words, what greater erections do we aspire
Grand napalm skies dried bitter to the cusp of ego
nothing sifted clean
all is mirror bleached and we are all Human now
Vomit out the life only lived inside
En masse to no mass, A temple to self sustaining guile
We will be joined at the wrist fastened by snakes
pervert our own and leave a depth so malign
focus now wanton and seized
As our ancestors sit writhing and apoplectic
We shall show no care or dwell in a state of grace
Yours will be a garden of roses, lest to outsiders a nest of wasps
Burden, no burden a lift of self to know self
Slender is the hammer until it is met.
