Wars on the outside never matter
The sickness on the inside always seems right
A comfort like falling to a sleep of nightmares
Where maybe the emptiness is renamed a lie

So let angels with nail bomb halos
Whisper nighttime dialects into our ears
With power unfolding through capillaries veins
A real world slap on the face of our dreams

Awake is the place I fear the most
With the crawling denigration of the soul
So let painted faces paint pretty faces
On problems that are twisted and old

Praise the knives of syphilitic madmen
Who cut the throats of many stray cats
As their enemies derive the courses of stealth bombers
Across the sky of a midnight sun

For there is a pillar of fire from jell
That is perhaps a god worth worshipping
That knows the course of many stray atoms
And never lets on that it is more than you

But still we can’t hide from the chief of the dark
Efficiency envied by the light of the stars
A flash of gamma and a cup of tea
While soldiers march on the balls of their feet

Painted in blood a road map to a city
Which held in the ground for millions of years
A drip on the sand can change all the fortune
As the scavengers feed on our eyes

A glass house built for throwing stones
A metaphor mixed with a poison
A step on a rock that makes no difference
And 187 MeV later…