Come back to the alley, baby;
Come back to where we lost our innocence running,
moving like drunk lightning through a forest of broken needles
until we were more stitches than people.
Like gruesome puppets,
addicted to home surgery and dollhouse tea parties.
Living vicariously in a single serving world that
prewraps all of us, lovingly,
with the kiss of a factory stamp.
Old mother UPC,
running in our blood like 36 hours
and 87 pounds
Of lipless, guerrilla brotherhood.
Let's all live like the brave cannibals we really are,
serving up molotovs and glasgow handshakes,
second star to the right,
right on 'til Kristallnacht.
All for you, Illumination; cursed golden daylight hours,
pouring judgement and flaying our retinas.
If we should break every mirror, we are all ugly.
If we should smoke out the sun, we are all filthy
Together alone in the dark of an ideal, electrical playground
where we don't have to rhyme for even a single fucking second longer.
Boiled down, we will be an opiate to each other.
By blades alone, we will simply be, or cease,
poppies guarding our corpses for perfect irony.