Naloxone, Nearly
Mullet with the gutter high wings, Angel-bursts from out the pissbliss of LRT underground, brought back to life. Deadmonton, Alberta, a shabby place to be, With bear sprays and meth-ids. Dullblades And hold-ups for an iPod generations dumb. Wince, return. Wince, return back To unreality, some medic in your face. Come undone. It's gonna be awful, I mean Awfully okay. Just take the train to your next Death. Some taped up, bloodied hammer left to lie Heavy. Passengers study a scene, addicts of true crime. Train goes on, a syringe or six, never pick up sticks, Nor will the city. Blanket overhead, dick out, half-hard Giving it a tickle-leak. Send a shot to the Journal, and What. Another assault, extra stabby, no one gonna Get home safe tonightโ Secure are the security of 16 For 16 an hour. Hey, she's only getting stalked And sexed over, and the train goes on. And shit, That guy's taking an honest shit outside The bathroom. Inside's for using. Why'd they bring me back? I was closer to god Then it'll ever hit me closer again. Your life is crucial. Sir, In appearance. Sir, in fact, it's a statistic. The supports are gone and never really were. You're left to your one simple hell to refresh again.
