I'm in the jungle
Stepping over fallen brethren
Beasts roaring, hunters on the loose
Film at 11
The sound of the ground beneath my feet is concrete
Music rising down to meet me from a window a city street
Violence and violins
It's mother's milk to us
We drink it down as we make
Midnight maneuvers
Marauding like a tribe of lost saints and vandals
Painting in a cave lit by American candles
You see the writing on the wall, you hear the raven's call
Puking out your poison in a bathroom stall
Breathing smog