Eight soldiers advancing
Eight white crosses
Eight grieving families
Eight stories, burning the rest of the script
Burning puddles of filth in alleys
Artifical dandelions, splicing toxic yellows into my eyes
Blinking behind the broken glass
Perception reset as the lights blink off

This place is a cheap trick
Exposed at the root
Like a cavity, a pus ridden sore
It must be lanced, purged, cleaned
Cleaned of the false human impression:
That we matter

War is mental illness,
  there is no pill
   that can save us
    from ourselves.

Information age,
disinformation age
Plastic pillaging vikings
Lightning striking,
same place twice
The snow started light,
Romans stumbling through the night,
dream of coming in from the storm
Boiler room pruno scored,
white crosses cross my heart
Steam cuts broom apart,
magic tricks in the dark
Nightmares of oily black smoke,
metal ladder, last legitimate hope,
lungs screaming, rungs scalding

On the brink of mirth, lip split vertical,
bleeding surgical mask
Tapping Nelson's cask,
sipping static ash
Electronic clash, striking through,
silence moves around you like
  clouds
Life sprints away in leaps and bounds,
bound to end up somewhere,
  bound to fate
Juniper seperates me from rocky track,
don't wan't to go back,
  sick of drymouth walking
A boat headed south,
all the teeth knocked out your mouth,
  doubt becomes despair
We pretend that we care,
but our actions bare
  different conclusions
A fusion of different contusions,
condition: Human,
       most likely
  dooming: Oursleves

Cutting branches from the mercy tree
Pouring hemlock into afternoon tea
No retreat, simply flee, chaotically
History, repeated, rebuked,
taught in hollow echoes
Crisp lies, carefully crafted confusion
Truth becomes illusion,
don't trust your own eyes
Die with no reason why
Assembly line insanity, our vanity
A species eating itself alive

I called into the darkness,
only shadows replied with their silence
Surrounded and juxtaposed,
men senselessly exchanging violence
You can't survive this, involuntary birth,
existence the mirth of a blind God
A blind fraud, a sadist, preaching morality from the ****** pulpit
Your last hot cup of coffee, your last half smoked cigarette
The lights are about to flip off for a while, greet it with a smile
Grind your teeth to the gum line, interlocking fields of fire on the gun line