The last bleepin single on the only label left


Final fatal flow forcing five furious fanatics


Clot and mental and soft and sleazy on the sides of the buildings

Frothing grey ashes over depressing skies with billowing hatchets 


Curtail the ambivalent cat calls and turn the signs to dust

Take down the last of the glory men and make a new castle from the last breaths of his lungs


Down to the erect but abandoned stations deep below the sun under the howling dust and wind is a lukewarm slice of the caverns of hell


Turn the sound and make the eyes disappear the senses will fail but rise again within in the mind which is where the truth resides

Touch will be everything at once

The universe be a grain of dust in a empty saltshaker

I will be a king of nothing

Holding the fort holding the line holding the shambling beast at bay with every other face that can look me in the eye and laugh