Oh, stage carpenters, destitute of sacred fire!
Oh vices I can verse despite my senses –
I feel averse to spreading lies as thin as
Those I conjure, doing things that go
Against my nature, become some someone other
That the lowest can look down up on,
Deliver from the haze of sum like suffering.
Cadenza thump and rumping hard,
Mid arcana trumpcards tied to telic prophecy,
Irreversible augury. Personality construct’ from will,
Tough fuck to kill, stuck-up and filled
With rage that’s slim, pure skin with impure colouring,
Grim advice resurfacing following the struggle
Of these many years, those many agile numbers.
This beat it beats and beats me, this beast bestows
And bests me. If anything I can try to be
Better than this sound.