We are the cockeyed children left to babble in tarantula glue. We are the crosseyed children left to suckle straw in the soap opera zoo. We are the engines pumping out children scrambled by static from the noisy sun.

Sleep, eat, own, fuck,Abandoned like a bombed out conversation. Phone, TV, sweets,suck, I pledge alliegance to the small talk nation. wrapped, packed, soiled, stacked Gaping like a cracked open pinata...counted, measured, copied, faxed, pink tarantula teeth in our pina colada’s.

Whats brewing in your trenches pink tarantula taxman? What’s listening in those stretch marks below our web taxman? What cooking in your stain? The sleepy clang of cash register fangs? Whats cooking in our sun? The addictive hum of bubble gum slums? This withered milk tree you call love collapses like an empty glove..Feed it! Suck it! Own it! Fuck it! We know that sewing on another asshole wont make us shit more but who can resist two for one at the pink tarantula store?

When you wake up in the morning the rising sun shines through a frosted viel. Well always lay together dreaming of other people beneath the poison hail. You look so disgusting all pink and puckered covered with tarantula hair. You look so disgusting I feel the sight rotting off my prowling stare. We know the tv fed us our first footsteps, but the ketamine’s gonna teach us just how to crawl is gonna teach us when to bawl. We are the shock eyed children misled to yellow in tarantula webs. We are the gawk eyed children chained to rot in designer fuck beds