Raging fire

I'm trapped inside this Motel.

Oh, those young fists clenched in the air make a million millionaires.

Set fire to the ships.

Constellations strung up like barbed wire.

I'm drinking cement like it's going out of style.

Those cold hooks, cemetery claws raking at the infant's jaws.

I'm tied to a seagull's back.

And all those black-haired bandits try to lure me down.

With their songs and choir.

I'd rather shoot up a syringe filled with fire.

Than go to bed with sounds so vacant and tired.

What's the sound of a cashing check?

What's the sound of a gag reflex?

Like speakers crushed beneath an empty tank.

Blowing the ugly off an airbrushed face.

Set fire to the drums.

Set fire to the lions.