Seacapitated Maders

I fear your paper heart
is lipped with silver chrome from fourth translation
And so, if what you say is true
Take this satchel full of dreams
And come back home

Instant winged ambitions so they're sleeping on the sidewalk
twisted metal gypsies hiding in a car shop
Tormented by both the sound of your
light and love
Yes!Yes!Yes!

Oh No!

Christ to Curse to Faders and Maders
Somewhere where our lives were aimed to forge
these arms that called to quiver and devour
your poison blood supplied solely by the hospital
Everyone today looks so cliche
Are we but a spector of the beatniks we once were?
Although, I suppose our mess invested was a score
Because now I know that there are ways to knock for the coast

Crush these hands and paint our
Bodies with the moons technicolored blood.
Seacapitated
We are all young