There is a bullet that must be bitten by the want that lives in me
I blame the empathy, a fuckery of wandering lies and modern philosophy
What a heavy mind that sits behind one working eye, brimming with all kinds of good
The gears want to turn, but they have no room, hanging up on stacked books and lessons learned
You’ve got no power here, my love
It’s been bought by our fathers and those before them
They won’t give at all, even at such cost
And my heart is full up to the top
For every long-necked married god, there brooding one hard night apart is a writer gone to dust
A riot curve that’s fixed to rot, the want to kill what you cannot sets the gears to turning for once
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