The ugliness is juxtaposed against the young in muddy clothes,
The potion chased with scummy mop water below my nose.
The moment's gone. The open wounds that flow down tubes and soak the bones.
The ghosts learn to hold the living close and haunt their holy homes.

I think I understand the connection between me and this land that I rest in.
This place where I can jam my bed into space where I can take off for a second.

The weight alleviates my pain and I’m trained to thank the weight.
Just crank away at the handle of fate until it breaks and I don a pasty gaze.

And I paint like a limbless schizophrenic and lay claim to the bits I’ve collected.
It’s ugly, it’s pitiful, it is pathetic, and credit is due to the new epidemic,

That moves through the room like a shrew in a red dress. The moo cow’s shredded to goo in a second.
It’s evil, I know, but I dance in a head-dress on graves of the past tense, missing the message.

But futility is so fucking depressing so militantly I give up on the good guys.
Zooming to new highs and lows and choosing to die with a music reprise.

There’s blood on the floor, my lungs are punctured. I can’t run anymore.
It’s coming toward me at speeds that exceed the norm and force me into uniforms.

Fingers emerge from under the floor boards and orphan the babies that cry in the cradles.
My pride is unable to make heads or tales of the survival enabled.

So I dine at the table of life and try to find in the fable a light.
But it’s funneled through tunnels and muddled by muddy banks, so I’ll just bite through the halo and die.

The ugliness is juxtaposed against the young in muddy clothes,
The potion chased with scummy mop water below my nose.
The moment's gone. The open wounds that flow down tubes and soak the bones.
The ghosts learn to hold the living close and haunt their holy homes.

Cells divide, collide. Off of the belt outside the assembly line.
Delve into the depths of the mind. Never decide which is heaven or life.

It's all a mirage unless I've been caught in the paradox of stress,
Versus safety and laziness. I melt away and they mop up the mess.

A puddle of flesh in a bucket of bones. Under my breath a rebuttal it grows.
I can see it above the trees now. Leave now on a shuttle and go.

To the solar system's outer extremities. Phobia ridden, homely and giddy.
The simian roaming the potholed city controls only an ounce of destiny.

Arm yourself with a Gatling and batter the battling bastards who grab for your hands,
And pull me through doors of illusion. Contusions, a human battering ram.

I ask who I am. I'm denied a response. I'm Link. How many lives have I lost?
Aiming at Gannon with cannons that slice through the landscape like it's ice cream soft.