Death's In The Good-bye.

I’m Lost. And It’s My Own Fault. It’s About Time I Figured Out That I Can’t Ask People To Keep Me Found.

Once Upon A Time We Were All Born, Popped Out Like Jelly Rolls Forgetting Our Fishdom, The Pleasuring Seas, The Country Of Comfort, Spanked Into The Oxygens Of Death.

God Owns Heaven But He Craves The Earth.

Despite My Asbestos Gloves, The Cough Is Filling Me With Black, And A Red Powder Seeps Through My Veins.

We Are America. We Are The Coffin Fillers. We Are The Grocers Of Death. We Pack Them In Crates Like Cauliflowers.