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.