Marcha Marcha Marcha!

she's reading tales of bear attacks
in her love and pockets-in-a-sun-dress phase
while we play a song out in the back
a hook a line she can't erase
ba da bum bum bleak as space
la la la there is no grace
do-do-do-doo shut your face
Now drag us bleeding back to your place



dark lucent wings of brimstone fire
spread across the city spires
they feel it oscillate in empty streets
a tense and pregnant bursting need
evident by piles of burning tires
the human species wants to bleed
war and death and Cinders... hella
rape and plunder and catastrophe
everyone's a Mad Max wannabe
so throw us in the fucking pyre
we'll bring a match and light the fire



everybody plays a role
each stair is another cliff
"Hercules," asked the tiny mole
"Can a sister get a lift?"
Herc reached down without a thought
brought his sister Mole on up
the truest test of a paragon
is to lift the small and blood the wan



hate is bleak in isolation
it tries to erase, obliterate
not to promote but to negate
make our rage sing and resonate
achieve a harmonious oscillation
rage is life not resignation



gotta love neuropathy
our left foot explodes in agony
we take the shoe off and we see
no visible reason for us to be
bitching and moaning constantly
yet still it hurt so much we peed



A snake with no ribs would just be a worm
and even an eel has a lot of little bones
through thick and thin or fuzzy and firm
pleasure can be found with a partner or on your own