Chirp freakin' chirp Winged bastards of solitude
I am the Father Of mirth and shadows Dystopian Despot The Arranger
My inflection carefully inspected My name is bastard The b is silent
Supremacy manifold proletariat fed Hung like suits in a closet Dry humped and brushed clean Pressed and euthanized Submission

Lotus below us 
Shifting splitting 
My kaleidoscope glass 
Shattering yearning churning


My mind my mind 
Visceral forgotten 
Like a whore 
twice paid for 
Paid for in rubles


Blood painted manacles 
Dripping ermine 
Fling flung 
Clutching at this sinking slip 
Of my tongue


My golden goblet 
My gimlet my vagabond glamour 
My treachery my infamy 
My forlorn locks 
Sheared ringlets woven


Cloven heels and cuffs 
The gifts I present to you 
The remnants 
The glory 
Summed up in a puddle


Muddied and pooling 
My ankles sink sinking 
In deep 
Colors bouncing again 
Casting hope so faint


Chokes me like your hand 
On my neck 
Wiping the perfume away 
The smell the scent of me 
My thick face cream


My spectacles reflecting 
Burning these vines 
Winding weeping tearing 
Clawing at my heart 
My heels


Tripping me up 
Tripping me down 
And I fall 
So deep deeper still 
The abyss above me


You below me 
Still falling faster 
Into this shaft 
This well 
What is deeper


As if depth is a thing 
Pulling back mounds 
Dirt leaves muddied clay 
Studying this slab 
This tribute to you