Get me pinned
Get me punctured
Give me the shot
Shifting winds
Kissing the clutter
Of memory rot
Pharmaceutical
And happy? Yes.
The god queen
Is impressed
Get in quick
Cuz she don't laugh a lot
It's not for the angels when they sing
Cuz they have lopped off their own wings
When hearing the photographs, half-stoned
And deep in the sagging bags of laughing men
Enrapt with their own wasted skeletal melodies, half-sung
Taking chainsaws to the children
We've collected. Now we fill them
With unconditional
Disappointed shrugs
The drugs will begin to take effect
On the limbs we misdirect
But after the brain has been exposed
Where the fidgeting ex-gods hide
They scatter like rats to their lonely hives
Below, oh