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HAND-FED TRIUMPH, SPOILS. BATTLES WHICH YOU CANT RECALL FIGHTING IN. THIS FANCIES YOUR FIT. YOU'VE SETTLED DOWN FOR A LONG WINTER'S NAP; SIMPLY GROWN TIRED OF CHEAP THRILLS, BUT IT'S BEEN YEARS UPON YEARS OF CRAVING SIMPLICITIES. OH, THE KNAVERY/DEPRAVITY! SENTENCES BECOME PARAGRAPHS BECOME NOVELS ON COLD FRONTS, WARM BACKS. AND THIS TOWN NEEDS AN ENEMA. I'LL PASS THE TIME WITH A RHYTHM AND A RHYME. THAT RHYME NEEDS A GOOD ONCE OVER, BUT I'M NO JOKER. I'VE SEEN PEOPLE EXPLODE. PIECES! YOU CAN'T KILL WHAT'S ALREADY DEAD. SUBCONSCIOUS WHITE NOISE MAULS PROSE. ODD, SUPERFLOUS SOUNDS. THIS IS A PHYSICAL CHALLENGE, WELL-BEYOND A DOUBLE DARE. COMMIT TO A LEGACY. ON WITH ALL THE FIREWORKS AND THE PARADES. GOD-WILLING A MOMENTUM OF SILENCE. SILENCE! IT'S WHAT WE'LL ALL EVENTUALLY HAVE IN COMMON. |