Colors of such that our eyes were burned And gold boughs from which to hang oneself We've got reasons like the seasons ringing We've got weapons without name Mirthless though dressed up in comedy The screen's glow is hiding the mammon beast It's cauterized the senses that allowed us real life The carrot is how we avert our eyes And in time we're willing to lick and to contrive Spending in digital atmosphere Smiling as we've learned to love the stick Choking back emotions into character armor The wizened paw of Crom is a-hanging off his leg His ribs are sticking out like a leather birdcage He's aged so many years in the past few days Oh Crom you're such a good dog Ease this pressure, lay down weaker, gasp and shudder and never stand up again Cannot feel them, cannot feed them, cannot hear them, as the dogs they bale and whine I am weak we are all weak, but I'm not as weak as you; with a dead dog in your arms With a needle and its tip to suck the life and starve the dog, the boy is lying on the floor, Raise him colder to the sky.
