The angels mock themselves, juvenile
Completely hopeless
You watch them burn

You are not God
You're a drunk misfit
And yet you are fettered to a godly doom,
With no such glory to speak of.

Well then, why am I here you ask?
Well I'm about to show you.

And let this poem be forever evidence
Of the strangeness of this individual,
And how they were fated to be the only one
To experience the fullness of the Universe.

You are bounding music spilling over into chaos
You are noir petals unfolding beneath my skin

You are the guiding hand of a storied man
And a baby nestled in the warm crescent of a mother's arm

We have become our own insanity,
Built up walls of denial are wearing away as we blow the wind

The distance between us is shrinking and expanding
Time and space tore themselves apart, just for us

Godless wretches swinging through the cosmos
We feed ourselves a good story
But even good stories aren't free
But maybe it depends on your perspective.

I bear witness
To the object and obstacle of the mind
"Eat it!"
It says to me

And if i do, i know you don't need it
We are eating just for pleasure
You know you are undoing my body

Cue the caricatures of the glutton
Food flying everywhere
And we are watching from our death
Like the ghost of Christmas past.

And if i don't, which happens less
Then I am holy and sacred
For not listening to that devil
Ignoring rumbles,
Staying steadfast.

See how ravenous you were,
Just taking it for granted
And eating, and eating,
How dare you,
You eater.

And the fact you will be judged
And being exposed to that fear by an automatic universe
But you think it must be for some reason
You must have done something wrong.

"I hacked your brain,"
It said
But you will never prove it happened.

We are running on your circuit
And I live to take advantage.

You're the one who's always true
We should give our lives to you
But I saw it
Running rampant
And I built a little mill there

From the mill we made our millions
And I will admit I mocked you
In the final execution
But this is just your crazy poem.

The Patient is Dead.
We did a lot for everything we can.
There's no time for this one.
Well, have you read the **** poems?
And though all our debts are paid
And though we swung and we-- swayed
The Patient is Dead.

The Patient is Dead.

Put in a call to the morgue
Right down the hall to the left, the stairs to
A cold gray steel door.
Well does anybody want these shoes?

And we gave our best to you,
You'll be our Patient through and through.

The Patient is Dead.

The Patient is dead

And though we swung and we swayed,
Put your shock pads away
The Patient is Dead.

The Patient is Dead.

And though we swung and we swayed,
We had a Hell of a Parade.

The Patient is Dead.

The Patient is Dead.

And though we still feel a buzz,
Wel I think he always was.

The Patient is Dead

The Patient is Dead.

Everything is not pride on a pedestal
When you want it to be grand design it's not
And when you doubt it's grand design it shows you how wrong you are.

I predict
That you will not recognize me someday
And that my shame will be all too apparent

That the ruse i use to excuse myself of mistakes
Will stay the same
But you will grow tired of hearing it
And it will be all too clear
What is going on here

But you are tired now
And given the infinite nature of everything
That would be why you appear the way you do sometimes
Bitter, angry, not a fan

But