The Song That Never Ends . . .
Half-remembered musical quotes, heard in little chorus-laden phrases, orchestral clips filling up all moving space and time, with cinematic-styled lyrical close-ups, inter-splicing all my lost tangential thoughts, together in glitzy self-deprecating glitter-bombs, speaking of emotional punk-rock pixie queens, with blood-stained fairy wings framing their flower-crowns, and dancing through rainbow-colored murder scenes, where all dark fantasies of sound are unbound from your empty traitor's heart with vibrant guitar strings, with riffs of mythic proportions and siren songs, crackling my vibrating eardrums through stereotypical designs, spilling out chaotic patterns of notes in endless madness like foul-mouthed yet tuneful waterfalls of tenacious toxicity, pretending to engage in verbal acrobatics via elastic perpetuity, but falling drastically short of permanence-marked vocal violence.