No Rhyme, no lie: still shit
- Christopher Fraser
Implicit fatalism in a lighted birthday candle. Insistent nag to end all days in ethereal smoke. Implied: deny all wisdom; accept all pleas to pay no mind. No one cares, bad fortune's scarce; the hype's got your mind noose-tied. Who's this fooling; I give in. I've hid behind my third's false corpse. I want to hide from man and mind, but tramps are they who have no homes.