Hope I don't die in a robotic slush
slaughterhouse padlock
for a high-tech happy
my eyes get bored,
my mind, a mundane puff continuum
under the weather
of dangling out-of-reach
ladders
WTF
my new favorite word
suitable for any occasion
in this prime directive
of idiocracy
who is to say what will come
the Archons are scrambling
spittle is dribbling from the halls
of power and pomp
A great beast lumbers toward the mill
rain in his hat, a madman on a leash
like a giant tortoise with a word
emblazoned by lightening
upon his shell
I havnt' got a thing
I'm out of money, baby
but I'm richer than a millionaire
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