| You’re obstinate
|
| Contrarian
|
| Electrical-storm proletarian
|
| And the fire that’s keeping me warm
|
| Is burning to cinders the secrets rescinding the war
|
| Nefarious
|
| Sarcastically fucking gregarious
|
| And I’m frayed, I’m tired, I’m flayed, I’ve tried and I’ve failed
|
| So I’m walking away
|
| Shut up
|
| There’s no end on this page
|
| For my succubus-cum-necrophage
|
| Every word trephinates
|
| The skull you emptied of joy
|
| And tried to replace
|
| With your void
|
| Your saccharine and frivolous noise
|
| You’re a mannequin modeled off harridans
|
| Hung for their poise
|
| And their ploys
|
| One if by land
|
| Two if by sea
|
| Three if the monarch’s here
|
| And she’s bending the knee
|
| Bastards
|
| Yeah I know there were
|
| Bastards;
|
| Your mind a frog put to boil
|
| As it turns out
|
| I’m a glutton
|
| I’ve let bitches
|
| Push my buttons
|
| But none of them like you
|
| None of them like you
|
| (you're just a)
|
| Shut up
|
| Caustic happenstance;
|
| Down the drip feed I’m fed
|
| Every word you intone
|
| Tears my skin from my flesh
|
| And my flesh from my bones
|
| My bones
|
| There’s a reason you’re dying alone;
|
| The intent of your sentences
|
| Grind together like stones
|
| Bastards
|
| Yeah I know you were
|
| Bastard
|
| Your mind; |
| the graveyard of toil
|
| As it turns out
|
| I’m a glutton
|
| I’ve let bastards
|
| Push my buttons
|
| But none of them like you
|
| None of them like you
|
| Bastards
|
| I don’t care there were
|
| Bastards
|
| Your mind; |
| a stamp on my world
|
| And without you
|
| I am empty
|
| Everyone since
|
| Gave me plenty
|
| But none of them are you
|
| None of them are you
|
| Bastards
|
| We can’t even struggle through
|
| Bastards
|
| All the construct can do is construe
|
| All my insides, made of clay
|
| There’s no reason to go or to stay
|
| There’s
|
| No one left like you
|
| No one left like you |