lead us not into over-complication trash talking to the non-existent camera my half-cocked journalistic endeavors my black helicopters and cia scanners it's 1 to 2 over under on the drama queen
held together inside manila prisons as he gives up his sense of space and time he runs up and down, spits on his own chin gets down in a seal push-up position hock that shit again, i dare you hock that shit again, i swear to you
ripping open the author of these words with more and more blood the head of a fox wearing the young writer's body to prop them up whilst the second head of the pig snuffs out every word of regret this is true failure, embodied and immortalized this is embarrassment painted over the first and last name of the grave (is the recording on?)
screaming, dying to come out of you it's as if everything that you've ever loved has to come through right now which is all we have, this is all we have we have nothing else
