A bottomless pit we build a bottomless pit in,

Call it a wishing well; filled with odorless poisons,

Follow the paper trail; never got a paper cut,

Fell in love with ideas; easiest way to get fucked.


Surrounded by sheep skin counting the sheep I slaughtered to sleep,

Throw them in wolves clothing, just so the wolf isn’t me,

It’s a clever disguise, call it life, it is the only way to get through,

Every honest thought is cyanide; throw every bit of truth in a noose.


Everything is truth and everything is fiction,

Nothing is truth and nothing is fiction,

We are post-everything yet post-nothing,

(No posts about this please)

Not sure if I’m living before or after the second coming,

Stumbling towards singularity without a single thing,

Sometimes she’s woman; most of the time she’s only woman on her machines.


I’m driving in my city,

Or what remains of it,

These skyscrapers have more of a pulse than those living under it,

The streets are painted with bottles; colored with liquors,

The shops are the vase holding the painting together,

Crammed with poison,

The only solution is putting more poison together.


I’m a beautiful bluebird,

Life is a coal mine,

They call it paradise,

Sometimes I wish there was another side,

But my wings are stuck and my skin is just oil,

Sell me for cheap,

A bird falling down a bottomless pit,

A bird flying down a black hole.


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