13 minus 27 is 38.
Took the east-bound train to Missouri by mistake.
Halfway between the station and my home-state I got decapitated by a snowflake the size of a plate.

Tonight I'm on that metal horse.
Meta-force.
Went to the bar and met some ******.
**** was talked and shots were poured.
Drank 'em up then got real bored.
Lectured til I heard some snores.
Went back to the bar and got some more.

Diseased without a hope of cure.
Your face is like an emery board,
and your hair is like a handful of snakes curling round a Sycamore.

Throw it up! Down on the floor!
Two more steps and I'm out the door.
Don't compare me to your paramour.
I don't want to know the score.

Baited hook, shiny lure.
Fighting thoughts that can't be ignored,
but I'm not sure what I'm fishing for;

All you'll get are metaphors.

That's what the voices in my head told me every time I set out to make some kind of statement in an antiquated form that would most likely be overlooked by every one of my friends.

But with beer and vanity and pigheaded persistence,
I managed to ignore them.

There's a formula that can keep me going indefinitely.
They say immortality's nothing but a myth,
but I've got the recipe.
It was passed down to me as an ancient family secret:

"Three strips is never enough."

Twilight sprinkles tinkling in the fog.
Swirling eddies in a shot of egg nog.
Snowmen wearing blonde wigs with broomstick arms.

What the hell,
it's Christmas.

Everything is quiet.
My soul's all but silent.
The voices in my head a dull murmur.
A whispering susurrus.
At worst, a distant cicada's rhythmic chirping.

Gravity with its heavy hand would have something to say about the way you stand.
Get out while you're still upright.
Get out while you still can.