there's a little bit of hell in everyone,
and life is a sad yet hilarious sunset,
left of which we eat our own ribcages,
all the wild trying to evolve our fangs,
gold in the good word of each outhouse.
see, I was in your dream last night,
where corners end round and robin birds
manage to move in, shit right next
to the place where hospitals meet taverns,
and together they make mistakes like surgery.
probably not different,
but definitely not the same,
each moment is made in the vein
that runs right to the heart of the crime,
and it's time we floss our carnival more.
beware of the future,
for it is designed to kill us all,
unless we learn how to conquer it,
like conquistadors on a bloody beach,
witnessed by masquerading clouds and nothing.