Mist morning, cook off by mid-day
Brain curdle, I want you to stay
James Dean death dream, angel decapitate
Crystal ball all of the styles that ain't happened yet
Strawberry daiquiris mixed in the basement
Caucasian Indians buried in the cement
How tall do we let the buildings get?
How many shirts do we sell before we never forget?
How many denim vests and thrash cassettes?
How many talks with our kids about sex?
How many cryptic status updates,
clinic visits and webcam dates?
You think you found something growing underground
Sew your skin to mine in sutures
Heavy sound and cult couture
Where the intellectual skater kids on 2cb and the Illiad
Crosby, Stills, Nash and Carl Jung
give me something more, acid on the tongue
I wish a light bulb would crash down on my head
one last bright idea just before I'm dead
and I can float down the river on a coffin ride
goosebumps dinner now it's light outside
Mutated remnants of decay and context
content exclusive to sexual congress
input and output are a single blurred conscience
seeing nothing saying nothing.
Death of the prophet with his hand on a cup of lean
memes all the same and the news stories sound mean
Hope is the pain of the land's lost belts as the
opiate becomes the pain that we all felt.
Together in the rain, crying CEOs
break their tears off together 'cuz the tears all froze.