Songs

A River of Whiskey
Clean
Parasite
Utter
The Place Where God does not exist

Words

A River of Whiskey

Is not a good place to be
We need to stay wet
Just to be able to breathe

It’s not that we’re selfish or pompous or conscientiously unkind
We’re simply rotten at the core of our minds
It’s not just the choices we make or the laziness we radiate
It’s the moods that catch up with us regardless
A constant starvation that, your incitements notwithstanding,
Would cause you too to eat your own children.

Blessed are the healthy of disposition
For it is only they that not only are able to bare,
But have the least need of baring

Not only can they manipulate the unhappy as their puppets
They are worshipped as generous and kind
It is always that way of the lucky
How the dispositions that make their charity appear so seamless
Are taken completely for granted by the wicked
Thinking that somehow if we just made better choices
We could be like them

But we drift and swim until they fish us out
If we to fail to hide our disdain for those, unfairly blessed,
By distancing ourselves or otherwise not shielding ourrighteous contempt,
They feel justified in letting us drift out to sea.
And there, shall we righteously end.

Damn the happy. Damnthe blessed.
Let us drift out where we belong.
Away from your bareable world.

Parasite

You ungrateful cunt
I put prime rib on our table
Fancy shoes on your feet
You rub dirt in my ulcers
Get blood in the sheets

You whiney little shit
I fight off hoardes of invaders
You tell me that I'm weak
Bathe you in the finest whiskey
You kick me when I sleep

You ungrateful cunt
There is no flesh left on my fingers
Nothing but blood in my eyes
You stab me in the rib cage
You eat me alive

You vicious parasite
What is it you need?
You're gonna need to take it easy on me
Cause if I die
You die with me

Clean

This house is clean
There was life growing in the corridors so I invented a jelly
Now the corridors are empty
and
clean

Dust billows through the long winding nasal passages and is
snuffed on the edges of the what you might call jelly

A life that is not my own
Is a CLOG
And I will
SNUFF
IT
OUT

With jelly
Crispy edges
Of what you might think of as a razor
but it's really just a paste I devised to imitate the fineness
Of right angles

thin and
clean
crispy edges
empty of anything that might disturb the constraining vessicles save
somatoform constriction
i e devise but cannot control to allow for
some degree of random error

proud of my accomplished invention that almost half works,
i float, wisp down these constricted, clean hallways.
clean and whispery
austere tranquilized passageways
lonely as God must be and so
clean.

Utter

They demand that you utter something
They demand that you open up
It'll make them feel as though they're less alone

So that they can be assured that what's inside
Is benign to them

It'll make you feel as though you're not alone
To feel you out

Open up and scream
Curse us if you must
Utter something for your own sake
Because it makes us afraid

It'll make you feel as though you're not alone