Sweeter Somethings Barbaric extremes of rape, insinuating deaths, electrocutions on vertical cuts, bruised blood of heroic concubines, hippy and anatomical wastes, delusions of crack and a world over dosed on murder. Flying pedophiles and creeping holy men, homeless and battered with their god of no god in a world of screams and fire,where everyone dies like Jesus but there are no crosses, there are no rebirths, there is no resting. Bludgeoned and bitten, risen on the moons of the witches sabbath, a coven for the Devil because the devil never fell. Lungs breathing in blood and stomachs adapting to the angels arsenic. The muscles of the heart betraying the drum, closing off your oxygen, the brains passage to darkness and flashing neurons of the far off bombs, falling, falling, fading and only the dead cities embers and for what it's worth, burning flesh does not smell like meat. The putrefying smell of burning sweat and the hatred within, our demons, our words of wisdom were only blasphemy and we cried to this God after which we claimed sacrilege. The natural song of earth a battle ground for the fucked and the damned, where drugs are sold to children who have blackened their lungs, addicted their bodies, drugs addicted to them, and guns addicted to the hands of all who wish to live longer than the rest, power addicted to strength and this strength addicted to fear and hatred. The bells toll but they no longer ring, only a crack, a suicide of glory itself. No place for true shelter, all planes became the enemy, running is only a suggestion but it becomes the common instinct, the flight because we're already fighting, outrageous, decrepit, defensive, fatigued, drunken bastards- they never left one field green. There are no flowers or growing trees, the animals are not brave and we are animals. We are cowards, we are the stink of the earth. All stones of happiness left unturned, and God gave up this world of fucked, bruised, shit, he left and pissed on our fire. No flowers are left to grow and there is no Joy of Nothing. Bruises can be healed and forgotten about. New and beautiful flesh takes the place, our hearts, our health, our honey, or sugar, the baby hair on our heads. World was a sweeter something A paralipomena for happiness but still intoxicating. The wine and vodka are two separate things but they've all been abused, guzzled, bleeding out on broken glass. Sliced knuckles but for the bastard who gains his freedom. His semen staying with his wife but his wife gathering nectar from all around to fill the emptiness in her bones. Children who luckily all look like their mother and a dog so hungry he can't even eat. The miscarriage in the back yard and the wife wishing she has gone too, for her sins, they were a cave, venom, metal and shards in a crushed heart. The husbands eyes, stained with kerosine, blinded by the vast grey fog of gunfire and the maid who takes her children and her bleeding uterus and leaves the bastard and his damned #depression and blind, beer gut. He cannot see but he cannot feel for his heart is hallow with pressure and dead with fuel in his veins. The static of our TVs and no rainbows except for spilled gas, broken guns, carcasses of cars and houses with no past left inside. Bleeding walls, machinery of night, balsamic night shade, drink me, eat me, fall down the rabbit hole all the way to hell and Jack the Ripper. Kill Alice, Kill Mary, kill earth and leave it to burn in the sun, follow your fate, do not hide from death. Earth was never meant to be a sweeter something.