lets gather round the carcass of the old deflated beast, we have
seen it through the accolades and rested in its lea, syntactic is our
elegance, incisive our disease, the swath endogenous of ourselves will
be our quandary, weve nestled in its hollow and weve succkled at its
breast, grandiloquent in attitude, impassioned yet inept, frivolous
gavel our design, ludicrous our threat, excursive expeditions leave us
holding less and less, so what does it mean? when we tell ourselves
its only for a while we have been deceived and its only for a moment
that the treasures of our day make life easier to complicate, the
treasure thrown away, im so tired of all the fucked up minds of all
the terrorist religions and their bullshit lines, of all the hand-me-
downs from all industrial crimes and the weeping mothers and those who
aree led som blind, from the plastic protests and the hands of time
and the pursuit of mirth and all hating kind
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