Oh! Them fiends do march!
Veins bulgin’ and shirt buttons poppin’!
You can turn your head but the fuckers’ll still catch yer eye and like medusa herself, turn yer soul to stone and crush everything you ever hoped for on the spot.
Oh! Dear Mary, they do howl! On a road of broken glass they’ll crawl.
Smearing arms and faces with blood, like warpaint.
Oh! Them fiends!
How they do howl!
A chain-gang in tow of high-hems and heels from here to heaven,
Wailing out for more.
Oh! How them girls do wail!
Fall down, pretty children, in pools of hate and bile.
To the rivers ye shall flee.
Let the rats and adders take yer sins.
I have no use for you, no more.
Oh! Them fiends!
How they do howl!
And their girls,
How they do wail!
We have no use for you, no more.
No more.
22nd November ’11.
North Ave.
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