Treacherous Sons of Goats Who Eat Money & Shit Trouble

What folly lead you to this concrete prison
this glorious pile of rank neon capitalism
churning through mountains of moulded plastic
controlled and constrained appropriation
numb numb numb to the numbers flashing
the phone shrieking and the people
speaking backwards devouring oxygen
parasites feeding on
parasites feeding on
in the silt heavy soup, the lowest ebb
the eddying chalk laden milk water churn
close and concealing thickly congealing
scum scum scum all the way down.

You broke the camel you trampled the line
you trod in your own mouth and fell backward
through time heel over head over emptiness
deaf to the tones ringing around you
immune to the hollow sickness
unable to despair because you never
had a single hope in bloody hell.

Burning time like it’s bank notes and blank cheques
consuming every year like a hot dog breakfast
ripping up the book and rewriting unwritten rules
every uttered word mutilated by mumble mouth fools.

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