a displaced mind strays, 

poor honest abe, he’ll be withering on

the penny, barely standing with his stack hat,

straw body and marphausens syndrome, we’ll be

walking by him in the red room, and he’ll look 

quite dead, but we’ll all hear him breathe.

you missed the nite

he saw himself dead,

your heart, too deep, was asleep.

no suffering, no heart aches 

the starry eyed dream of every jon wilkes booth.

is there too much life to take on?

if you were never cold,

your life was far too kind.

II. tear off my clothing

tear off my clothing, cum on the walls,

leave my old skin out to dry,

now that the body has lied,

poor words, sort of seep from our hands.

and now we’re alone, nude,

in the dark we'll make it fit.