Neutralized area. Bright white glow. No smell, no sound. No soul. . Sterile environment. Immaculate death.
This song's to commemorate. My glorious return to feeling like shit. . So fuck you, beautiful, fuck you, sexy. What are you so fucking happy about?. Fuck off.
Not so much born. You were shit out. Dressed in schoolboy clothes. . Hair combed neatly. Shoes tied tightly. Fed shit for growth. You are what you eat.
The world looks like a finger painting done with broken hands. I saw the last mantis today eat its own head and fuck itself. Into nothing, into nothing, I'm told that we had hands once.
An ocean of rum. Tosses your pickled gut. Onto Christ's sword. . Smoke bellows. From the mouths of. Your poisoned followers. . Their corpses explode. Into heaps of rotted fruit.
Words trailing off the banality. Gripping nonsense the weather sucks. I couldn't care less about your fucked up car. Me throwing up on your nicely pressed suit.
Crawling over the bodies of your dead bastard children. More like a loss to a plot line then you can tell. Your friends how cool it was to be pissed on at your own funeral.
They matched the D.N.A. from the spit. On the stamp on the mailed package. And the typewriter. Had the same characteristic markings. . We learn from other's mistakes.
A worthless prospect. Spraying the wall. With your rancid semen. . Trembling, completely useless. Your pants around your ankles. Unable to assert yourself.
I wage an unholy war. Against your fucked up soul. The shattered illusions of a thousand nightmares. Preserved in a jar of shit by God. Surprise you fucking lose.
Humiliation outpost of snarling. Ugliness and dying people. Rewrite these image. Edit, cut and paste. . Favoring some fleshy sex. And racially diverse humor.
Circus angel. Clipped wings. Bleed free of captivity. . My heaven will have you. You don't miss your fire. Until your hell runs dry.