Your streets of filth lead nowhere at all.
Your money is nothing: you have
nothing to offer.
You bet everything on a disgusting
social illusion: now you have
no reality left. Everyone sane
has deserted you by following
a higher spirit from within.
Your beauties talk nonsense
until they turn everything stale
including themselves.
They eat drugs from shiny vials
and fall down in sleepy rows.
Then you wonder why they're ugly.
They were never beautiful enough
for you anyway.
Everyone must be sliced into pieces
and put back together in a shape
that your dullness can deal with.
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