It must be a full moon!
Perched upon the castle wall—
Eating paint chips and dancing,
Half wishing I'll fall—
Singing words with no meaning
To the un-hearing evening,
And miming ambient bleating...
Horned sheep in your pasture, feeding;
Fueling glowing red lies, fleeing
Anything that feels like home or truth,
And cleaning with bloody bleach the taint
Of your reality. Disappointing. Feign -
Avoiding decision, indulging derisive visions,
Perpetuating emptiness,
Necessitating holiness to explain away your life.
Tonight's no special night,
So I take another bite, here -
Have another chip.
You know, I never could eat just one... goddamn you!
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