What’s the catch
Hey what’s the catch, I’m gonna scratch the itch that bleeds upon my tongue, that supersedes the chosen one. And ties it in, to all the greed and all the avarice and sin, and all your elephants and gin. And takes it home, to those dark satanic tenements in rows and all the concrete and the stone, and brings it back, like the tyrant who in impotent decline still hands out lashings in his mind.
And I’ve been trying to be, in the absence of society, the myth of me and all I believe in, and I’ll go to hell, but I’m bringing you all down with me as well, another life in the age of reason.
And stiches up, the blackened livers and the smog corrupted lungs, the children raised on chains and guns, and cracks the whip still keeping lookout from the masts of sinking ships for freedom flowing from your lips, and in my dreams I wake to pulsing, beating, screaming melodies of places I have never seen, and feels the way, like the soap and water coursing through my veins is washed away by falling rain.
And I’ve been trying to be, in the absence of society, the myth of me and all I believe in, and I’ll go to hell, but I’m bringing you all down with me as well, another life in the age of reason.
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