I’m in the same place as all of yous, but I’m absent minded and got misanthropic contempt, like anthropomorphic deer by the highway watching Cadillac surgery. But deep cardiac compassion, all you idiots are inside of me, lashing out with lively love. Scorns used to scar, but now I smile. **** the struggle you’re on, and put your shoes on the final platform. It’s not truth mama, it’s death. Have you tried it? Me either, we’re both among breathers. Now, tell me about your facts in expressions unconditioned by human history. Tell me about those bats on your shoulders that babble obscenities like Black Beard’s parrot, named ****** He speaks not of this century, so his ***** are now children’s songs, sung around plastic bonfires, trying to roast electrical socket covers. To no avail.
Born human mightiest
Socially slighted and far-sighted
Let’s bash through hierarchy
I said bash
you P.C. crusader
cold as a computer
slaughtering the people’s good language
in the name of removing something savage
instead of asserting a new image
A true sign of the artist
but I’m no artist
Dec 15, 2013
Dec 15, 2013 at 12:00 AM UTC
I’m in the same place as all of yous, but I’m absent minded and got misanthropic contempt, like anthropomorphic deer by the highway watching Cadillac surgery. But deep cardiac compassion, all you idiots are inside of me, lashing out with lively love. Scorns used to scar, but now I smile. **** the struggle you’re on, and put your shoes on the final platform. It’s not truth mama, it’s death. Have you tried it? Me either, we’re both among breathers. Now, tell me about your facts in expressions unconditioned by human history. Tell me about those bats on your shoulders that babble obscenities like Black Beard’s parrot, named ****** He speaks not of this century, so his ***** are now children’s songs, sung around plastic bonfires, trying to roast electrical socket covers. To no avail.
Born human mightiest
Socially slighted and far-sighted
Let’s bash through hierarchy
I said bash
you P.C. crusader
cold as a computer
slaughtering the people’s good language
in the name of removing something savage
instead of asserting a new image
A true sign of the artist
but I’m no artist
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