theres wind in them there trees...silently the TV pulsates at me under duress, injecting radiowaves into my perforated skullbone
Jeremiah speaks to the fishes today, boils on the nose of Nostradamus
stay where you are, there isn't any transcendence in a computer game
a game you play at night with the pixel elves and the rotten gums, you rememember your mum, she gave you birth, your milk udder skid row demagogue speak&spell
Sarah under stars, the blood red angel of destruction is purple, made of hunks of beef
it's no better the drinking, whats better then drunking yourself to death

staring into a nostalgic ruin of anxious nihilism, one hope to crawl
back to the covers, under protection