There’s a stigma to stigmata now
That there wasn’t in our grandfathers’ days
There’s the O of a mouth gaped wide open in awe
Missing out from our cunt-array

And,
Who doesn’t want to be like an action figure?
A plastic explosive?
A cleaning corrosive?
Seeing the world like a monochrome tigger,
And getting lynched is what niggers do best.

There’s a charred-ness to charity now
A tighter drawing of all our coin purses
There’s a loosening of our mouth strings how
ever, a prevalence of newly spawned versus’

And,
Who doesn’t want to go back to the feudal era?
See their puppet masters knighted?
And all their potatoes blighted?
To see the world function like a well oiled, hate filled machine?
And grinding cogs down is what machines do the best.

There’s no sense left in innocence now
When one man screams the whole wide world can hear
It means something more like willful ignorance these days
You hear the pain, then quickly shield your ears
Until the last (sigh-sign) of the hurt has disappeared

And,
Who doesn’t relish their little climate controlled bubbles?
A safe place to hide?
An off the cuff alibi?
Not to see the world, just the corners where they’re huddled
And making people into bloody puddles is what despots do best.

There’s a new closeness to heaven now
Just as there’s a new closeness between england and Oz.

And,
We’ll make it over the rainbow someday,
This accelerating accelerated, synthetic cyclone culture
Is going to whisk us all up, and carry us far away.
I’d gladly give my life to live to see, the land of do-just-as-you-please
But in the meantime there is no excuse
No reason why there should be pain