No your encouragement will not weasel itself
Into my hands which conjure any spell
I wish to carry my bloodied tattered feet
To every crossroad packing my heat

No your soft wishes of cursed glee
Makes me want to grab my gun and flee
Fun for the flower pots and the sun glaring hot
Makes me want to die like Elvis on the ***

No your lily rosed' cheeks which squeal naivety
Doesn't even make me want to donate a penny
The dirt beneath your eyes tells me you lie
I'm sitting back here eyeing that last piece of pie

No the Earth spins not in beauty but in horrific madness
Not even the almighty could have dared to plan this
Saggy eyed hobos drifting souls that noone dares to know
Will be the next thousand dollar opera you'll praise a fine show

No more of this celebratory talk as ***** maids smocks
Cannot be washed of blood as the midnight bell tock's
No more wishes of nature's fortitude she does not need us
My eyes my dear or eyeing south for a continental bus