45*21

the world is plateaued
it goes without saying
there was a time and there will be
when language grows from itself
out of itself
there is a time
when language without its usage
grows more cannibalistic
and people will think this is good
what are your crimes
the sweat of billions falls
on the awning of one
you bicycle around with your smile
pretend to know all
the Cabal and its lesions of unknown
faces grow from melted candle wax
this artificial light
it is another 50 grand
to turn it all on again
and you will pay gladly again and again
like the song says