We're told we should endure for this or that

Ring

You’re told a new beginning is ahead

So noose a hundred camels while you’re on

It’s all post-apocalyptic now

Nose dripping freely in the lawn

The records spin on gasps of air in troughs

Which children drink from knowing they will die

The horns of Moses tangle in a knot

As fashioned for the canvass in a lie

Butter hails in the boulevard of splits

You ruminate or masturbate in shifts

Should poison think to pour itself a glass

You’re busy cherry picking from the if’s

We’re told we should endure for this or that

Eyes shut in tight cacophony
Authors lay out stones for walking on

Eloi, Eloi, lama sabachthani

Divorce, a word for cowering at the hip

Insane asylums built for such a thing

I have a ticket for that very trip

And slip the skinny finger from the ring