don’t tell me
how bad it is
I already know
it’s suicide season
and I’m all out of bullets
but geared up for excess
bicarbonate of coca
the ancient inca curse
smother me with candy kisses
take this poor boy home
it’s the last big deal
coughing up rocks
and surfing on air
but it’s all good
at twice the price
they’re shanking junkies
down in the park
bloody lubricant
for a vicious mechanism
those black market forces
can be so exacting
but my hands are clean
I’m just a punter
looking for fun
.
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