A manic industry goes on up Inside
She’s been finding time to go rather Mad all over again
She asked to be handled with care, forever strapped to the ECT chair
Her golden hair tells all kinds of lies
These Split Wits are quite intricate and stereotypically blinding, kind upon any eye that shall have her, perhaps – in fact the prettiest picture there never really was, yet an unmatched threat to the whole Trembling system
When aforementioned pretty became all too hastily placed immediately from scintillating reach
Nasty once the surface is dastardly breached
Here she is, contagiously brave, necking precious square tablet Imbecile Pills like it’s right back in nineteen – fifty – eight again
When Peculiar People carrying heaps of threatening regret like a choke-hold ghost about the festooned neck do roam these oblong – walled, Petrifyingly distasteful buildings
She smokes her weaponry cigarette and cackles to catch a laugh soon as her Fellow Prisoners do entice the life right through her
They’re Perched to give birth to manic tendencies when they aren’t even real – fake, fake feels coursing the lampooned core of these brainwashed beings – cum -answer on demand machines
Which have undeniably ran their last breaths into lino – stuffed, finger – nailed floors
Tears first fall then pour to the point where the Depressed Janitor need no longer bring her bucket of water anymore
Come the swamped upon a.m.