Bound to the night like a clock
Wound to measure out life in a never-ending
Tick tock perfects the dark. The mood
Polished by the moon muching dead souls
Teaches sadness and the long fat shapeless
Length of distance trading emptiness.
The future looks black and obsolete
According to Gore's 'inconsistent truth'
But he knows all about money, the measureless
God of the rich and famous,the godless form
In the color of dirty shit. Shrieking whores wearing
Suicide, poverty and the obscenities of war
Dressed in black dresses astraddle pale horses.
That empties you leaves you with stones and
Multiple problems tasting of lost money
Its sweetness filling you with sour darkness.
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