Sifting through aftermath, many peoples gone and counting all the indecent propositions, cumming all the way through the rubber like a gruesome consensual murder. If you’re not floating you’re sinking in the sapphire lake and if you’re not burning you’re adding gas to the flame and if you’re not a rock you’re ground up into sand … How’s that for building things from the sky down, Icarus? And tell the midsommar poles they can burn or be locked up until next year. And don’t flatter me too much with those wings, Shirley - fluttering, mind melting, goes without saying that these days are not-hot iron-branded, stomped on by chicken feet … Not resembling relentless decay feasting on mushrooms and dead relatives.
Giant penis in the sky, impregnate the bellies of the rich, the social workers, the police, and the immigrants. THAT would be a proper use of resources.