Age does no one any favours
So why not refuse it?
Why not denounce your saviour
As sound and music?
For the end promises nothing more than hate
And bitter, ornate grapes
Forced onto cascading tongues with tape
What encumbered apes we are
To drive our cars
Into the stalls of beauty
Thinking they are complete
While we are replete
With that hollow feeling
Frothing, frothing