Paper Flames

There is a silent harm emanating from those disarmed,
Tracing jet-streams to the monocle of the Man alarmed,
Shooting blanks into the caverns of what once was charmed,
Fields lay unfarmed.

I can't make you love me, Mr. Love Me,
I can't make you stay. When the sphygmomanometer grabs you like the octopus of assistance you suckled your pathetic alien mouth on.
Long gone yesterday

I creep into the crevices of the atoned,
On my own, burying bones.

Destroy the man in khakis,
Later on the man in jammies,
Of empty words,
And loud refrains,
Come hither to these paper flames.

Send the messenger into a pit of cuss,
Or better yet invite them all with lust,
There is a hole they'd like to fill,
With angry men on madder pills.

Fucking snakes, fucking snakes, fucking snakes, fucking snakes, fucking snakes, fucking snakes

Extra, extra READ ALL ABOUT..

Let's gather round the sewing ring,
A thousand echoes of a thousand things,
Of people who can't listen to anything,
But the sound of the midget in'em,
Fidgeting.

Of newer oldies,
And moneyed shame,
Come hither to these paper flames.