If you could fathom the extent of subtle death in altercations and masturbation...
a full descent for the masses,
an oration for all we were.
Dead convictions for you and me,
dirty hands and dirty minds.
A smile fits nice between soft spoken lies.
Besides, we're dressed to kill--ingest it all, we'll pay the bills
. The conscience dies. Impatience grows.
The failures fit.
The regret shows.
We're the human wreckage buzzing like flies,
and wear your best tie...
the mood is cold up there.