She's a warm fart at Christmas.
The sand-castle virtues are all swept away in the tidal destruction, the moral melee.
Hold your head up to the gun of a million cathode ray tubes aired at your tiny skull.
The legends lie cradled in the seagulls call, and the promise they made are ground beneath the sadist's fall.
Ages passed I knew at last my life had never been.
God of ages, Lord of Time, mine is the right to be wrong.