Analytical analysis like a Freudian phallus
the boundaries of a palace guarded with a malice
of the foulest intellectual paralysis
the people are shouting about a bout of honor
of information, spread through supersonic sonar
to where you are, where you're from
whiskey and rum, an ethanol binge
right on the fringe of respiratory depression
seen as a lesson of total supremacy
coming down off amphetamines, producing these memories
to be forgotten, then be refound
and to the ground, I'm coming down

Hunger profound
This soul of sound
Resonant and yet unfound

I sit and hiss
This soul of bliss
Mocking those of lousy priss

Dress duress and mock the proud
Blade the sheath and hear the sound
For here and now is where I lay
Dead and dying to this day

I scream and dream in woe serene
My knocking wiping faces clean
I see no eyes but I see sight
Grating those who want to fight