Son Of The Devil Trite flare falls / ignites forth the water. The Red Jack of Simon's bath beams. Ant-ball boys with pokers / in frenzy. In sauce. A Dance. Once a dance. A biochemical spillage of the North Point. He licks his teeth. The golden chalice serves well, now dinner with a show. Sound. Sound. A king. A king. What shall it be? Pheromones? Testosterone? Paranoia? Euphoria? The sound of plastic rulers snapping. Violin sirens, more ghost than flesh. Gagging our parts. Storm. Rain against rain. The glass eyes fall / ignites forth the air. Because like they care. because like they care... No Mercy. No more.
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