Morning is merely a foray into the night
why scrub the bath? It'll only get dirty again.
whole months are forgotten
sad to say drugs are not the culprit.
The sky is an exploding plastic inevitable,
and The Someone's pushing up daisies.
Gotta grift the homeless lady,
she carries on crying, but does she really know pain?
Get in the car it's tan inside and bloated with impersonal questions,
how hot would you like it?
Everyone loves a murder mystery, it would be the perfect crime,
kill her, you've got a trunk to fill,
baggage is good, listen to the Morgan Freeman in your mind.
Playing Clue is a good distraction from the day,
and the feeling of perpetual decay.
Rhyming is like serendipity,
when all the right words fall in place
but no one's ever had that, so what's the point?
Mang I've got a glock locked onto this bitch
that i'm about to kill with the skill of an electrician
living like a die-etician
eating human flesh and this and that
mostly that because flesh makes you fat
"I walk around town with a frown on my face,
fuck the whole world gonna catch a murder case."
The bullshit finds a way.
The pendulum of my emotions has swung to the other side.
As apathetically as I just wrote that I love it