Helpless
Minds floating
In black brine
I'm feeling tiny
I'm feeling small
I feel like everything
An atom splits
I've been hit
Along the surface
Of my sun
On your sun
Of every sun

If I were a sun, I'd be this one
Fucking up everyone's day
I'm going to miss the smell of my dog and the hard feeling of my Fisher-Price McDonald's drive thru playset
When I was four it gave me pink eye

Don't look back, it's coming in a face that you have known
Eleven miles of stone casting piles of rubber discs into the eyes of men

They shoot like falling stars along the black lake collecting chalk lines from corpses and repurposing them for the new and improved teaching method spreading across the country
Soon the dingo sends out his conmen drawing missiles on their graves

Art is a thing again
Our minds are now dense with hideous pretension
Teachers across the nation adopt the new psychotherapy method of having their students dip their hands in black paint and fling it at the wall screaming "ha, ho, I'm having a good time"

"Ha, ho, I'm having a good time" say the kids as they fling black paint at the walls
New pickups on guitars to soothe the lumbering cartoon beast that appears on the television much to their dismay, much to their dismay
In the end the only survivors are those who are proficient with rifles

I draw my rifle fast and shoot my rifle true
The bullet pierces the shell of the beautiful scorpion and I salvage its carapace to use as protection against the gaseous clouds
Horrible men feast on their fathers' sons while the meek survive off sulfuric acid and chitin
Sound did not survive the blast