Here’s a reaction to the times. The Reaper ringing the chimes. The wind of change is Napalm and a bomb to rearrange molecules and anti-matter. Life evolves to destroy and take out cell phone plans and scatter dreams in the form of gun splatter. Computer programs redeems our points of a mythological deal of free will. We’re all on a hook that’s being reeled in, the slow kill. And there’s a dye on the lawn to keep the grass green, chemicals in our water and ten thousand degree sunscreen. And it’s pathetic, this vampire epidemic. While we create frequencies to mimic organic drums. There’s so much sexual tension resulting in the bending of thumbs. We live in the slums, that’s where inspiration comes from. And as we struggle and bite our tongues, crawl through the sewers and slip on the rungs, things just keep getting worse. Eighty-four per cent of us are under a hypnotic curse. Consume and die before you retire, feed on the young and watch the world expire. Now we have to deal with slap stick torment, tortured by machines belching obscenities and cancer that lies dormant. So we pray for rust and decay, look for answers in a world gone astray, industrial landscapes void of beauty. We walk on the cusp of Hell and do what we must to do our duty.