Independent contractor time bomb blow like thermonuclear reactor
Independent contractor paid dirt punishment until body shatters

under the sign of consumption, nocturnal productions, are belt fed a la no russian
straight out of the fucking dungeon, abyssal waste walker born to nothing
with one function, giving shape
allied with any who live to make
life is grind, reshoot one billionth take
tired but awake, ignore the aches
they come and go but u know I stay
dust sculptures from my own decay
know nothing else it's the only way
on display, hopefully for pay
cause it's this till death or apocalypse
caused by long gone dead monopolists
sonic terrorism as it all goes down
screaming as long as I'm still around

Independent contractor autotelic but the money still matters
Independent contractor love what i do but still need to get paid

i hope this doesn't look to you
like i know it looks to me, untrue, overdue
what a noble goal to pursue:
life from beneath the guise of proof

unleash the malifacted
matter fact it's nothing more than matter
halitosis faxed to Maxim
simulations of my alma mater
spores spread to Moorhead
dead served on a silver platter
more cred to your bread
salutations nothing makes me sadder
from the deck of a sinking ship
i fire flares from the hip
and then wipe sweat from my lip
i hope this don't mean shit

seems unlikely, as untimely as it looks to be
appearances deceiving, unbelieving masses love to breathe
but the cult of death wants your breath more than they need air
Heaven's Gate, assimilate, longer wait, bigger scare
here and there i've made mistakes tantamount to gaining weight
losing it is twice the hassle, can't you count on feigning hate?
transmission slips no oil in my car
you won't get far without the shit you can get in Myanmar
land mines shoot cans farther than jerry-rigged bb guns
Larry King's corpse stinks more than his TV run
not to speak ill of the dead, I just gotta say
even I'd do a better job talking to Eric Andre
no conjurings or hauntings
James don't know shit about ghosts, left wanting
whatever Wan thinks good comedy could be
cuz horror films today are funnier than scary

no one will fuck with this
despite all their luck and bliss
top of my bucket list
make sure I'm stuck with it
the muck and the grime make for makeup for souls
the bog and the marsh border cities of gold
the monster within them knows not what he's sold
he takes them and breaks them and leaves feeling cold
i'm not bold i'm italic, underlined and struck thru
slightly obscured but still clearer than you
so klar wie tinte, i've been to the end of it all
spoiler alert, you don't answer the call
you end your life broken, defeated, alone
with eight million voicemails clogging the phones
get that thru your dome then call me back after
when i climb the scaffolding i'm taking the rafters
when i rob your bank i'm taking the tellers
and those pens on the leashes, call bullshit, you're clever
don't flinch