the stealth of death smelling the roses on the way to hell that quell the simple procedures of moron superfonix battering the open hand held out to jut the closet shut smuttering the stupid music baking your mind up and out and over without no rewards to cuddling the cutesy crap between the buttered fingers of broken gods supremely naive in the blissed out and shit up marionette sugar world where there was a time when lost minds defined the lines that linger between designs and overturned souls refilled the candy homes to jumping smiles and static refuse that culminating in the sound of divine separation on blank blush encrusted reflections bouncing off swollen meat eating edible destructions to feel your pain up and molest the collective language when ghost symbols understand the intangibly evident broken and needy bleedy balogna on the edge of the muddy sludge of subconscious filled cups of muttered spells and slave oceans sold to the dead in the water wet