| Finger Painting of the Insane |
| A cloud of flies obscure the sun A stone is dropped the dream undone Ripples grow and ride the tide The dead thing crawls from deep inside With its dying sour breath The burning smell of insect flesh Hungry things in circles crowd Around TV's turned up to loud We are the dead next door Where the dirty needles shine and litter the floor Taste the light inject the lord I cut myself again because I'm so fuckin' bored The dream is swirling, I'm alone Where the streets are paved with bone Buildings with a hundred eyes Watch me thru the swarming flies Behind shades pulled down tight Things are growing without light Hungry things in circles crowd Around TV's turned up to loud The dream sea has been poisoned The stop light splashes me red Innocence suffocated in its sleep Dr. Seuss is dead |