Puerile

A sudden shock to the head, a photon failure A voice from ’98, I recognize Some kind of jolt from the past Hook, line and sinker I hear the mustang sing What’s in the basement? It’s from beyond It’s from the grave I reason with it I put it in it’s pla— I don’t know what it is Or where it’s coming from I shoot it in the head - I’m bleeding from the head Kill it Burn it Bury it Only for the weak And only for the bra— I watch it covering the answer Is all this is a game? I watch my mouth in front of Ma Drink the blood of the lamb Sinking from the load Sucking on a bottle And if I kick the can And recognize I’ll dream on from the ottoman And talk my way to heaven So sick of entertainment And I hate my TV