Crack team of blockhead automatons with batons to crack back heads
While we all “survive” being the last et al hiding in closed brackets

Possibility space vice grip trash compactor, those with no fault go “oh lord, silly me!”
Filigree of bigotry aesthetically, structurally, experts will agree was as it was meant to be

Choir says I’m preachy, why rattle through imaginary battles when for us things remain peachy really
So I breach the forgone conclusion reached and beseech the preachers to simplify the denominator, me



Just because you live through it doesn’t heal the wounds
Consume poisoned runes sitting watching the news
For a person who gets all views directly from polls of pew
Still under delusion which eschews clues into conclusions
which state false truisms to tune of: “all matter only splits into two”
Only takes words few for trust to renew
New doses of poison on spoon to consume,
think it’s fair to assume that this is what makes you immune