A skeptic can be grown in no-time

From the treated torso of anyone torn in two

And in this era of the owned and indebted who

The means to do so safely surround you

An average amount of artificial light is needed

Not unlike that of a public school system cell's ceiling

Raw water from the tap, and it ought to be

American for its most doubtful properties

But in order to properly

Grow yourself a skeptic solemnly

You must. Honestly…

Kill ‘em with the no

Q: They call it cope

A: What's working man's hope

They call it (the No)

A skeptic can be grown best

From the torn-in-two torso of a dead politician

Somehow so perfect for the unscience and precisions of skeptic making

Since they possess the perfect blend of empty and

Taking one needs in life to go all dark in death…

And in the shell of what's left, gradually the darkened

Goner mind sets to spark once again, with all the needs of moral men

And somehow none of its wants...

Bent without blood, meant or remembrance

Returning from what's absence with nothing but vengeance

Are the skeptics…

The sharp dark teeth of bread water and last sleep interrupted…

What would you say up in the no-face of famous?

When you crash you'll know where you plane is…

The no place of an ache egg waits

When you crash into the no-fame of all ash