Sweet paranoia fuels the waking hours with an urgent tension.
The screams of duty spawn a million mouths too hideous to mention.
Can’t you hear that train a-comin’?
Hit the ground and start a-runnin’
‘Cause the hand of fate’s summoned
Softly.
If you don’t feel pins a-prickin’,
You will drown as the plot thickens.
One mistake and your soul is stricken
Awfully.
Sweet paranoia turns the characters that move me into heroes.
They choose between an arbitrary set of tiny ones and zeroes.
And I watch the heightened fiction
Filled with witty fightin’ diction.
Can I make a bold prediction
This season?
I can hear the sirens wailin’
And the systematic failin’.
Call Russia and let’s go sailin’
To treason.
Men made out of gingerbread are fucking on the lawn again
In suits of black and aviator sunglasses they say
“Come with us and you’ll be safe. We’ll walk through fields of candy canes
And mandatory minimums are no concern today.”