Here we go with fallopian fiddler Fake

Captain Dreamer of the SS Wide Awake

Sheds his skin and bleeds crimson lust

Cockslaps his jaw and reduces it to dust

Useless as cunt bottles and electric shrooms

The boy who cranked a car to suck the fumes

His gossamer descent to drown in the muck

To weave a purple organ and learn to fuck

A din of phrases and coiling smoke

To savor the words that will make him choke

On a trundle of knives he sleeps on his side

Scrying a prism for his silver suicide

A foul burden to cravenly dodge

Toes growing colder in the fire of this lodge

With cancelled eyes he clutches a sphere

That seals the cacophony of screams I still hear

Pricktease promenade: the lies we applaud

Sleepers not yet stirred: silence can be heard

Perennial perdition: soliloquies wafer-thin

Stars burst at the seams: I never dream

I don't know my carcass from my bed. I don’t know my ass from my elbow. I don't know shit from fuck. I don't know grey from black, I don’t know shadow from shame, I don't know rise from regret, I don't know thought from terror, I don't know bliss from blackmail. You don't know me from indifference. You don't know me from anyone

A short likeness like images on a screen

Are the tendrils and spirals of this machine

A symptom of a gouge now rendered dull

Much like the sounds inside of his skull

A row of failures like a broken shrine

Spreading the rot round the rings of his spine

He clings to the words of this bitter verse

Like walking to a river to die of a thirst

Concave and empty like hollowed bones

Is the corpse to which our soul has been sown

Tracing the solace which has been deprived

Sallow somnolent, not even half alive

A halcyon illusion you can barely trust

Erstwhile hope is now brimming with pus

Hang from his neck so he no longer stands

With a brain that shits in his open hands

Pricktease promenade: the lies that we applaud

Sleepers not yet stirred: a silence that can be heard

Perennial perdition: soliloquies wafer-thin

Stars burst at the seams: I never dream

We'll let him slurp shit from shelter. We'll let him sing from a ravaged vein. We’ll make him drink ’til he's ready to burst, we’ll make him tie his hands behind his back, and we'll make him piss on his own sheets, we'll make him count to cunt, while we say: all is well. And we insist: everything will be alright