Let’s reproduce the terror of life,
in some happy-go-lucky
And leave the snubbers to die there.
Eating our dust.
(the dust of us)
The death of us!
(they’ll be, if not)
Pre-emptive strike/Pre-emptive stop.
We’ll smash those bastards by the barrel;
by the dozen, in the twilight.
By the light of the big-fat, rip-shit-sun.
Fun enough for EVERYONE!
Move along and move along:
the bitches’ time will come.
copyright: C. Ward 2016