Prints... Footed... Threshold yields... Eager heels... Ambitious toes... Disrooted... Blemished shields... What’s the deal? And who really knows? Who’s counting the... Crumbs... Eaten... Place is lost... At what cost? Turning away... Still beating... Positive? Negative? And who is to say? What’s given away? It’s smashed, but it takes too much time... Let it through to shrink the line... When it comes back rebilled and stickered... Tell me who is really sicker. I found this wing. Could it be yours? What does it matter if I can’t fly? It’s not enough. I still want more. Is it too much to ask to die? And who really cares? Yeah, who really cares??? Good fences make good neighbors. Don’t piss on my Mending Wall. Speak loudly. Carry feathers. Get over your Mending Wall.

Help Me... Help Me... You obligate me although I really don’t mind cause the need you breed is what I feed. It’s my drive for life... Lure me in and drive me out. My grief’s your masterpiece. A pinch of guilt and a dash of doubt to make my pain complete... Sixty Pills is all I need to get away from you. Sixty Pills is what it’s gonna take to guaranty we’re through... My tired wrists embrace the blade that runs across my scalp. Streams of blood run down my arm as I scream for help... Falling... Crawling... Crying... Stumbling... Crumbling... Frying... Ringing... Spinning... Dying... Bleeding... Screaming... Trying... My heart is beating slow but the fear inside me races on. I really don’t know the reason that I’m holding on. I’m feeling all alone. I wanna reach out for someone. I’m reaching out for something to replace what’s gone. I inward fall while my head is itching with the barrel in my mouth to ease the ringing of your bitching... Help Me... I’m out of control... Help Me stitch up this broken soul...

Her face is pale. Her lips are red. She is dead. Her hands are cold. My blood is warm. A violent storm... What can I say? What can I do? I can’t remember anything. What is going on? I see the blade. I see her eyes... Hypnotized... I have the knife in my hand. What can I say? What can I do? I can’t remember anything. What is going on?

He blows it down your hatch. Works up another batch. The pipe you blow will make the rodent smile. Never you retreat. Help you cannot seek. Just scared to death of the six foot pedophile. Hold Your Tongue... Little One... Don’t breath a weep tonight. Daddy’s having fun... Hold Your Tongue... Little One... And one night you’ll candle-light with a smoking gun... “This drink’s to you,” he says while he tucks you into bed. Mommy’s working late, but daddy’s home. He winks with lewd delight. Beware his vicious bite. The kitten puss will get the doggie’s bone... Years and years of beers and queers... In your mouth and up your rear. Sick of all the tears and fears? Sick of all the fucking queers? The answer’s all too clear. Pull the trigger, dear... No more nights of cum and bleed. No more doggies you will feed. Scratch his eyes and wipe your thighs. Slice his throat and watch him die. The answer’s all too clear. Pull the trigger, dear...

One shut eye, Dreaming, yet still awake Starts to cry Hopeful, yet so afraid. You should have seen, my friend, What open eyes disguise. You would not peel back the skin from your eyes... Senses dull... Sharpened daydreams break the skin. No control, But waiting to begin. You should have seen, my friend, What open eyes disguise. You would not believe in them, The Rind... One shut eye, Dying, yet being born, Starts to cry. A new life knocks on its door... You should have seen, my friend, What open eyes disguise. You would not believe in them, The Rind... You should have seen, my friend, What open eyes disguise. You would not peel back the skin. You would not fight. Against yourself, you’d see Nothing much remains the same When you set the Clockwork Orange In your brain...