I had a little monkey I sent him to the country and I fed him on
Ginger bread
Along came a choo choo knoked my monkey coo coo and now my monkey’s
Dead
At least he looks that way but then again don’t we all?
What I make is what I am
I can’t be forever
«make you break you make you break you lookout»
We are our own wicked gods with little g’s and big dicks
Sadistic and constantly inflicting a slow demise
The primate’s scream of consonance is a reflection
Of his own mind’s dissonance
