Deadman: MOROSE

[dead man]

I



separate myself from those who love me the most
to summon a ghost. not content until there's something to smoke
burn butter and toast, burn bridges, burn blunts to a roach
illustrate illustrious notes. luxury stuffed into coach
knowing feedback is crucial to adjustment in prose
while you spit on every work review your customers wrote
puncture your hopes. penetrate her pussy or heart
when neither one was good from the start, pulling your card
maybe not. but if i wanted to it wouldn't be hard
mornings seem like frozen cartridges that wouldn't restart
unplug the remote, dust in my throat, a sick individual
performing Indian rituals, like fuck who's the GOAT
Elmer Fudd, shotgun barrel rolling hunting Godot
waited for 20 centuries with nothing to show.
fortune without fulfillment - a paradoxical joke
like when lyrics aren't shit but the production is dope.
same verses recollected now to constantly quote
phantom genesis, the monster in a comfortable coat
parade around the avenue like colorful floats
eat vagina like i've got some kinda luncheon to host
destruction is growth. money is evil, present is post
everything, is everything. a relative scope
determines a lot. words in a knot, twisted the rope
bloody wrists are appetizers for your dinner. morose
broken cliffhangers. semi-fictional posts
fucking up the system like Episcopal popes
living atrociously, liquor and coke, fixes to dose
sacrificial in it's essence like indigenous folk.




†