a sudden appear.

a tiny look on life.

a moody nature.

used too many times.

what is it called?

now, all i can do is laugh at human stupidity.

there's nothing else left to do.

what a skeletal wreck of man this is.

translucent flesh and feeble bones.

running rampant with free thought to free form.

in the free and clear where the matters at hand are shelled out like lint at a laundromat,

to sift and focus on the bigger, better, now.

we all have a little sin than needs venting.

do you know what your post entails?

do you serve a purpose?

or purposely serve?

lying down inside of your adavistic galore, the value of a summer spent and a winter earned.

for the rest of us there is always sunday.

the day of the week that reeks of rest but all we do is catch our breaths.

so we can wade naked into the bloody pool and place our hand in the big black book.

to watch the knives zig-zag between our aching fingers.

a vacation is a count-down, T-minus your life and counting.

time to drag your tongue across the sugar-cube and hope you get a taste.

what the fuck is all this for?

i could go on and on but lets move on shall we?

say you're me and i'm you and they all watch the things we do, and like a smack of spite,

they threw me down the stairs, haven't felt like this in years.

let me go and punch me into the dead spot again.

that's where you go when there's no one else around.

it's just you, and there was never anyone to begin with now was there?

pretentious dastardly bastards with their thumb on the pulse and a finger on the trigger.

classified my ass! that's a fucking secret and you know it.

government is another way to say better than you.

it's like ice but no pick.

a murder charge that won't stick.

it's like a whole another world where you can smell the food but you can't touch the silverware.

hah, what luck, fascism you can vote for, isn't that sweet...

and we're all gonna die some day because that's the american way, and i've drunk too much,

and said too little.

when your gaffer taped in the middle, say a prayer, save face.

get yourself together and...

i'm sorry, i could go on and on but it's time to move on, so...

remember you're a wreck, an accident.

forget the freak, you're just nature.

keep the gun oiled and the temple clean.

shit, snort and blaspheme.

let the heads cool and the engine run.

because in the end, everything we do is everything we've done.

Corey Taylor