So there is something, after all,
in the conspiracy of choice:
I piss it up the wall instead
of finding my own voice. With no
motive in my head but money,
I cannot hope to grow a pair
of balls to match my ego's size.
Funny what I lose as hair grows
thin and eyes grow dimmer even
than my intellect. God knows what
I'm thinking: a heathen convert
on the road of rot and blinding
reason, I choose to pervert truth
while winding youth up with a smile.
