The landholders didn't get what they were looking for.
Eyes burned by an apathetic hate.
Wounded skins their favorite shield.
Cold bodies made the best ground for falling snow to cover.
They have always relished winter.
Uprising against us against a good idea against us against a big deal against us against the cosmos against us
Warm bodies temper frosted glass.
Capital is not your fault.
Speaking silence is.
Remembering how
lives are simply sweet, malformed,
sad, Jelly Bellies
Glass of white sand used to hold a rose wine
Now's the time to do something about it
Wrath of gray god used to be well and fine
Now a two-string fiddle plays around it
Everything's tinted sick green and dull gold
While our shotguns sing out of tune
Nothing escapes the slow, sick, and the old
Be it youth, bold beauty, or boon
In the techno afterlife
You watch ghosts of BPMs wail down the street from a neon tree strung with incandescent wishes
You have no idea what the other side is
In the techno afterlife
You clench your jaw and you lick your lips as you say it's just the same
You have no idea what the other side is
In the techno afterlife
You jump with infinite madness at it all for the next million years but there is no one there
You have no idea what the other side is
In the techno afterlife
Lasers and smoke fill the opioid emptiness with options and opinions and well-lotioned gargoyles
You have no idea what the other side is
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