The Culture

When the days start to haze into one another
Start to unravel into only one giant stretch
You can turn to self-medication for some grip
You can sniff down hordes of white powder
And meet sons
Who killed their fathers with television sets
Thrown down onto their faces
While you are still trying to choke down the metallic
In your mouth
You put your finger up your nose and then put it
In your mouth
You don’t care about this burnt out son-of-a-bitch
Who says he’d rather be in jail just to get his bitch-of-a-mother
A little more money and that little more money is just what you need too
To hang with the consuming nature to keep fixing things on your own
There are words that just don’t stop when they should
Thoughts that just get spilled onto barstools and best friends’ couches
Thinking about being another blip in the culture
The stagnants who mistake all change as progress
There are best friends then users
Then one ends up needing a titanium plate in his face
To keep his eye in place and his nose attached
He’s telling you this
While you are sniffing sharp dust up your own
And blowing out blood

I just don’t want to be sad anymore
And with this medication the singular moment is bearable
The moving pictures on the TV sets etch themselves into the wall
You could just fall into them and never be alone again
You could just get high and watch three cats
Eat and fight and eat and eat and eat and eat