Sporks and spikes and salad knives, fall into a ditch at night. Blood and gore and mushroom spores, ancient lore and the great outdoors, crack your head on your mother's shed. Purple, orange, blue and red, the colors of blood coming out of your head. Your skull will fill with tiny holes, your brain will be a bed for moles. Purple haze on summer days, mighty oaks and camping spokes. This happy life is overdue, now I've got you feeling blue. Sun showers, dewdropped flowers, wooden block towers. Here is your life, now it is mine, pay a dime to see sunshine. The place you'll go is dark and cruel, no need to pack your bags; you'll be there soon.
And that is the end of you.
-Ceeje
