Saturday, May 7, 2011

Lyrics for sale. (100$ a word)

Peel off your pants, slide them into the infirmary for tonight we write the wrongs and rites. The title of 'statutory rape' has a nice ring next to my name. I am the modern day answer to Cassanova, ruler of your thighs, demander of your sighs. If your body is the ocean, I am the submarine. Close your eyes, this axe has the tendency to frighten. Evisceration by dull misconduct makes for a boring welcome home party, there we go. There you go. Semen soaked corpse acts as formaldehyde only temporarily.

Open a bottle of false comforts and tasty morsels. Release your inner sanctum, unfurl your lustrous hair my dear, the guards are coming, and they have a taste for meat. Dust off tattered sleep from those eyes, we stayed up all night, dreaming about restlessness. We went swimming with the cormorants and flying with the eels. Some place what they call 'faith' on the top shelf, next to the refrigerator covered with Polaroids of little boys at the local park. Oh joy to thee, lure him in with a genuflect. Take his pants off…shoot, shoot, shoot.

Starve a cat, save a fish. Feed a family of four and wipe out an entire nation. The power of suggestion is hard at work flickering from your bulbs in that all important screen. Your life is pointless, but the compass still points the way. March under nihilistic banners, sing among narcissistic comrades, die in the streets. A seismic toss could be fatal, but you just got out of the bathroom after paying a visit to 'shove two fingers down your throat' town. Oh how good that place makes you feel, don't you look lovely dressed in your skeleton attire. Your meaning of life is to be lifeless. This only makes sense in the meth labs.

Just to be safe, put on your water wings and go swimming with the wolves. Wolves dressed in formal attire with names matching their dapper appearance. Paysley the sweater vested wolf snarled ravenously to another in the pack, Huckleberry. Fucking hipster wolves, may they become familiar with being skull fucked. The key to the secret garden lies within the skills of tying a noose and fine cordage. Take those cub scout lessons sonny! Let me show you around...


God is dog.
Vomit on a baby.

2 comments:

  1. Im not going to lie, some of that was brilliant in some obscured sort of way. But selling lyrics, you must be joking?

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  2. Fear not Anon, I was most certainly joking about selling lyrics 100$ per word. I would charge at least a 1000$ per word.

    Brilliance, probably not. Obscured beyond moral repair, certainly. I just have fun with the words.

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