the wind's gone wild, the violent ghostnnstares through the window at the cocky young talk-show hostnnwhose voice is boomingnnbut strangely soothingnnin a cube of precious, restless spacennwhile the city's boilingnnand not listeningnnto the paper bastard's painted facennnnso that's thatnnwith an electric flashnnof broken glassnnblood, bones, and skinnnthey all just blend right innnbut the cameras never cease to rollnnwhen life has lost controlnnto the roaring landnnupon which nothing standsnnnni'm the broken babynnwho's gripped by seannwith only seconds untilnnthe end of mennand i can see it comingnnthat metal handnnas it gathers up the final prizennwhen that gallant laughingnngets funnelled innnthrough your ears, your mouth, and your eyesnnnnit's a downpour of dead birdsnnto the steaming groundnnof this pitch black townnnand you better find yourself some shelternndown, the sun's been pullednnand now she's creeping invisiblennand i fucking swear that i just felt hernnnn18 paragraphs all across your headnntrying to convince me you're not deadnnbut a deep breath of airnntells what is and isn't therennspace has never liednnwill never lienni watched it all so safelynnfrom my tv screennn10 feet above the thrashing seann65 billion fingers packing tightnnthe dirt over menni'm notnni'm not the least bit lonelynnnnwhen my house starts meltingnni will be wrestling my ghostnnnnwith a foot on his face,nni will whip out the macennand slam it down,nnslam it down with amazing gracennnnwhile laughing on a distant, distant planetnnis a being with a telescope for seeing usnnfour thousand years of breathing, each the samennoh powerless god, stop making funnnturn around turn around turn around turn around turn aroundnnabort your sonnnnni can't stop driving, just searching the citynntrying to catch up with my yellow school busnnsmelling the scents that will one day remind mennof my love and where it never ever got usnnnnnothing hasnnnothing hasnnnothing has nothing has nothing has nothings hasnnchangednnnnyou dont need eyes to see thatnnnnwhen the wind starts tearing the treesnnup from the grouund and then around with the breezennnni will be spinning fast this sphere, closing my eyes,nnand pressing my finger herennnndown underneath the violent wavesnni will anchor to the bottomnni will bury my facenni wil be untouched by the weather, untouched by decisions, free to sleep forevernnnni was sucking on rejected applesnndodging all the circles of lightnnweaving through the well-lit mansionsnnof the great white elite at nightnnwhen the cracks began splitting the groundnnand in fell the trees to the firey seas of the underground, spiraling downnnhalf-eaten dinners and repenting sinners all clutter the crumbling townnnnnon a sound stage in the slums of LAnnthe jagged line cuts the floornnplastic wood and hollow appliancesnnshake to the rhythm of the roarnnnnand the laughter sign is blinking on and off and on and off...nnwith hysterical flashing, the lights all come crashingnnthey slice up the godly, young princennwho blows a kiss, gives a bow, from across the abyss to kids in the audiencennnnhe's letting time march away from himnnand he's giggling like a god the whole way downnnnnhahaha hahaha hahaha hahaha hahahannnnthe hurricane left casketsnnresting on the laughing groundnnnnhahaha hahaha hahaha hahaha hahahannnndownstairsnnthe television's speaking to the darknnit's a home videonnof a house you knownnnnof the oblivious earthnnjust 4 weeks before your birthnnnnyour mothers smile stingsnnlike dying in your dreamsnnwhen nobody caresnnthat you're not therennnnyou're staring straight into the eyesnnof the overwelming afterlifennnnthere's no reason to fearnnwhat has already been herennyou have to disappearnnnndownstairs,nnthe television's more than half awakennand it's laughing loudnnletting the cold dawn breaknnsinging, release the fuming monsternnfrom its home in the poison lakennnnmake friends with the roarnnand deny that you wear born intonnbubbles of lovenninto latex glovesnnnnand deny that your mind was designed to murder younnnnthen maybe some good will comennfrom your head to the great hum,nnbut you must break your thumbsnnnndo you want heaven, or do you want hell?nni've got both right here to sellnnbut man, nothing you've done is you're faultnnif you've had to be here at allnnnni dont carenni dont mindnni am tucked in the corner with my crimesnna rebellious little rusted nailnnwith a heart singing fail fail failnnnnbut golden teethnnpaper facenniceberg bloodnnnnflashing on like a flood,nnmy fellow god wrote the world in the mud.nnnngold-speckled paper deep in dirt says:nnnnwe've got truths,nnwe've got thoughtsnnwe've got flesh to watch rotnnnnsurfaces and structuresnnand sounds to turn offnnnnbut the rest is nothingnnand we know that nownnoff alone with its tame, simple screamsnnnnit's our job to cover them,nnnot to make sense of them,nnand to dream of having better dreams