I’ve got a funereal head full of feathers and fists
Neither one of them does me any good
Feathers ain’t got no weight no substance and fists bring me nothin’ but trouble
Better I had a head of fire and a mercuric mouth full of heart replete with teeth to rip and rend
I should be divine eloquence; engorged on love and guided by truth
No more a slave to a frustration no more this loser sittin’ here impotent with my rohrschach eyes and nicotine fingers
I quicken; my newborn synapse will lay waste to this flabby mass, my cellmate
I am liberated, light; ash drifting in a current of air
weightless I am the scion of immolation
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