Events occurring one level above real
Floating in crowds in total blindness
Chatting to masked men in alleys in the city
Whispering harsh platitudes to walls
Re: the murder
Everything is sad now
‘Cept sadness itself
Killings planned out in wet smoking rooms
Vision unwinding without use of the eyes
Rain falling on dirt dry people retaining their dryness
Tongues getting stuck into beautiful mouths
Of dead things
Everything is broken
‘Cept the breaking machine
Whores upon poles swinging by the side of the street
Choices of ephemeral buzzes and waves
Propositions regarding the killing of folk
Slander snapping through the wires of hanging minds
In the head
Everything is sad
Except for sadness itself