Electronic babblenShove off with thine elastic attitudenYou condescending fuck hole, you tiny little pricknYou don’t have the persuasion to crash down my power of hope with rationalizationnnTower of rubble, shovel dirt back in that open holenMy soul residing? Hiding therenA devilish grin of rich desire, more fire devouring flamenAnd shame on you, rust beggar, the one I’ve longed fornYou splendid whorennNo gift perhaps, to reason on the lips of this sad, mad mannOvertaken by a vile dream in which I tumbled to earth on my disassembled feetnAnd you must not treat me like the others; we are not one in the samenRemoved, proved to be of higher honor, least the trumpets wailnFail to find release from this anchor, rancor of bullshit ties, these drowningsnnElectronic babblenTower of rubble – shovel dirt back in that open holenNo gift perhaps to reason on the lips of this sad/madmannGod forgive my slightly shifting lines in thought disfigurationnnMeat as meat… defeat the source of that which spurns theenAs for me, do not mistake my misgivings as indifference to this madness that surrounds menOften time I flee from this torturous mindstyle/deathstyle reunionnJust another onion headnPolished meal of spine structure and jaundiced hornsnAll the endless fragments of this distorted view of lifenMy soul, sold… My being? MaybenToss, turn, burn the smile that tries to waste younThere is no hope in repetative warfare/nightmare but then again, who the fuck am I to care?nLet us take heed of memories foretold, dear skinnnKing of queens and Knave of nothing, InDear skin