heavy weighs the crown
on your crooked brow
you’re master of inanities
and king of all the clowns
but that sugar breath of yours
smells of shit to me
for you have shovelled moths
into your gaping maw
and you’re wearing kind of thin
tell me of that vision narcotic
you pass off as your own
it has the familiar flavour
of someone else’s gum
you got no metal in your veins
or I’d simply cut you down
but I’d be just as happy
if you no longer came around
.
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