Haven't really eaten, in a long time.
Wasting away. Physically,
but not mentally yet.
Yet.
Banging on instruments for
the perfect cacophony.
Stormy tonight outside Cleveland
as I stab away inside my laboratory.
Raining hell and I **** around
till my ears are almost bleeding,
screaming, more aspirin,
lighting thunder, and in the
dead sequences of recording
IT LIVES.
Strings detuned from a menace,
pure chaos on a note rings on,
SKRONK.
Skronk is freedom,
every voice saying what
every voice has to say.
5/4 and it's ******* outside,
and all I know is the key to
utopia is any note you like
in A major.
**** the signature.
Skronk is *freedom.