We are all reflected in the dying ashes of vermillion
our artifical orfices producing dietary discourse,
and here I'm smooching in the lemonade
leaving bic tracers in the sky with diamonds...
Maybe someone should try to find a parking place...
No, I mean really...like a parking place on the heart!
Black out the sun with a dying Afghanistan in the background...
Who gives a shit in this boil of a planet?
Who's fighting for a greater crater
in this culturally deprived city of sin?
Let's crucify the detestable fish I see a bee in a furnace
who's flapping her gills
for freedom and a voice
looking for an out in this
I see Aztec Gods
in Village People suits.
I hear the booming voice
of Unicron played by
as I collect myself
the cities septic...
the antithesis of
by the oily fiends