Find myself hoping for a night of the long knives Find myself wishing for a night of the long knives Find myself pining for a night of the long knives Find myself screaming for a night of the long knives Yeah! A natural culmination of your politics of grievance A fitting forfeiture for your cowardly malfeasance Streets littered with burning limousines Automatic rifles with empty magazines And then you’ll all go away With your hacked noses and spited faces And on the walls dancing shadows from the bonfires Twist the night away I yearn to watch you dance with knives in your backs Your greedy blood bleeding out and staining the track black Desiccated corpse of ideology subsumed Vegetation covers all those monuments in ruins And you’ve all gone away With your hacked noses bleeding from your spited faces And on the walls dancing shadows from the pyres Twist the night away Find myself hoping for a night of the long knives Find myself wishing for a night of the long knives Find myself pining for a night of the long knives Find myself screaming for a night of the long knives Yeah!

Culture lines identified then weaponized The media divides Then all the leaders can ignore the needs of every side What we need just might not get attention Airwaves have some other things to mention Freezing us in time is their intention They’ll keep throwing crumbs in our direction Culture lines identified then weaponized The media divides Then all the leaders can ignore the needs of every side Making everything about the culture war Anything good must be no more Does not matter if it’s dated Gridlock has now been created Culture lines identified then weaponized Political divide So now the media ignores the needs of every side They wanna make you afraid of anybody not like you Intimidate every town and every city Gary Indiana, Portland Oregon, Zanesville Ohio, New York City Hampton New Hampshire... do you have a problem? Fresno California is... don’t say shitty Culture lines identified then weaponized The media abides Then all the leaders can ignore the needs of every side They want to make you afraid of everybody beside you Don’t question the state of national security Culture lines... culture mines... but everything is fine... just fine

(Instrumental)

(Excerpts from Book of Revelation)

Got a brand new toy I like toys It’s a special one Going to get my hair done That’s what I said I wanna look good For the last time I mean this time You gotta try this It’s simple physics It’ll get your there You can bet your life on it Go ahead! You know you wanna Be free with the birds You can go to the moon Pardon me while I release the catapult and you go fucking flying Try to find the time to care when it’s obvious I’m not really trying What happened? We were so close And now we’re getting Farther and farther away It’s funny how you say that Without a hint of irony While I pick up the pieces Of my hopeless dramatic existence Pardon me while I release the catapult and you go fucking flying Try to find the time to care when it’s obvious I’m not really trying

You’ve made up your mind Nothing to find Nothing to learn Nowhere to Turn, turn, turn of the screw Not what you do You go up and down There’s nothing new It just comes round Nothing’s been found Nothing was lost You don’t exhaust You go go go It’s what you know You’re good for it so just go on ahead and try it If all you have is a hammer, then everything looks like a nail Things that need suction, abrasion or heat, you bash and you beat And leave their broken bits in your trail Listen! And then proceed What else do you need? A formal invite A guiding light The light that breaks The ground that quakes The sound that makes It pounds, it shakes Like you do when you’re quiet If all you have is an ear, then everything sounds like a sound When all you do is drop, all you can look forward to is the ground You rear up and swing The clap! The ring! To everything there’s a season A reason to even care To stop and stare But no one’s there waiting around to supply it When all you have is a hammer, then all you want is a nail And when somebody offers you a screw, then you call that a betrayal

Millions of us are flying in the sky. Across the ocean. Millions of us are eating super-size. Can’t stop the world in motion. 10,000 years of civilization Who wants to compromise? Humanity has got no mission Other than to colonize. I know I am. The proof That something has gone wrong How can I be Part of Something that’s gone wrong? The sun has risen a billion times Could this be the last dawn? Redemption is too late to organize When it’s covered in spawn Trillions of planets ready to urbanize Prepare for the big launch When parasites have nothing left to take They go for the next host I know I am The proof That something has gone wrong How can I be Part of Something that’s gone wrong? I fertilize I sterilize I televise Cannibalize

Now watch it burn! We love We crawl We snatch We fall I see with my police state eyes All the temples All the lies When you call When you weep When you fall Scratching at the earth, at your face, at the walls Hey! All the time I can see it shimmering in the distance While we bleat Goats in heat Then I strike with my police state club Like a deacon Like a thug Run blind  Stumble forth Hear the call Slashing at the mothers, at the major, at them all Hey! And all the time I can see it burning in the distance While we low Cows in droves Now they scrape all the flesh off the bones Curse the sky Curse the drones Red earth Red rocks Red hands Bleeding in the caves, on the ground, in their land All the time I can see it bursting in the distance Still we bleat Goats in heat We love We crawl We snatch We fall

One day, Mamma said "Conrad dear, I must go out and leave you here. But mind now, Conrad, what I say, Don't suck your thumb while I'm away. The great tall tailor always comes To little boys that suck their thumbs. And ere they dream what he's about He takes his great sharp scissors out And cuts their thumbs clean off, -and then You know, they never grow again." Mamma had scarcely turn'd her back, And the thumb was in, alak! alak! The door flew open, in he ran, The great, long, red-legged scissorman. Oh! children, see! the tailor's come And caught our little Suck-a-Thumb. Snip! Snip! Snip! the scissors go; And Conrad cries out - Oh! Oh! Oh! Snip! Snip! Snip! They go so fast; That both his thumbs are off at last. Mamma comes home; there Conrad stands, And looks quite sad, and shows his hands;- "Ah!" said Mamma "I knew he'd come To naughty little Suck-a-Thumb."

(Instrumental)

"Why everybody wanna turn me away?" "You should hear what they have to say." Slice like a skill saw, worse than a bee Like some opposite, asshole Muhammed Ali They rose out of the swamp in blankets of shimmering filth Quoting Tucker Carlson and accumulating wealth "Why everybody wanna turn me away?" "You should hear what they have to say." Slice like a skill saw, worse than a bee Like some opposite, asshole Muhammed Ali A swarm of warm maggots weaned on Ayn Rand and Nutrasweet Slurping and burping up nectar Sharpening their stingers Practicing their zingers Rehearsing all their singers In a choir of buzzing whine Mimicking debaters Fascist little haters Dishing out what caters To the bleakest cynic's whims In a choir of buzzing whine

Afraid to see the faces of everyone detesting the outward disregard for our right to live Only show the flaunting of privileged uselessness, isn’t that what we all want to see? Take the cutouts of the hour, none of us chose to put them there Incessantly presenting not a thing that we need Always suppressing the voices of the logical Well we’re tired of seeing the same old hollow world We folx have been scheming from the underworld And not for publicity With every breath comes a threat Folx are all screaming from their lonely hearts And everyone’s restless Well past biding their time Take down the idols of the hour, bullying us into seeing their faces all the time At the expense of liberation, what’s the going rate for battle? Someone will pay it as the rest of us die Isn’t it so amusing to pit us against each other? Sit back and watch the vultures feed How dare you profit from our frustration? Well kids, they do it all the time But folx have been scheming from the underworld This protest is not for publicity With every breath comes a threat So don’t get comfortable Shut out the growling stomach of the hungry The cries of the innocent you put behind bars Profit off your prisons, profit off your corruption Profit off destruction and profit off the stars Folx are all screaming from their lonely hearts And everyone’s restless, we’re never falling in line Blurring out the faces of everyone detesting the outward disregard for their right to live Feature the flaunting of privileged uselessness, isn’t that what we all want to see? Well we’re tired of them pushing the same old scag We don’t want to buy it, we would rather riot We’re tired of the same old hollowness We threaten with color and beauty, and to live without fear

Years ago, I got on the waiting list early. I didn't want to die. More than  that, I did not want my family to die. I wanted to possess them, so they can  comfort me, forever. So, against his will, I optioned my father to a  cryogenics lab. The Alzheimer's hadn't quite kicked in. He signed the  document of his own free will. Just to get rid of me, I suppose. 'Cause he  figured the whole thing was pointless. I convinced him, in a way. He's  donating his body to science, my science. Years later, after a few  cryogenic breakthroughs, I felt it was safe to save up, get a loan, fork over  the dough to the cryogenics lab and bring my father back to life. Dad,  daddy, dad it's me! I've been waiting so long for this moment. Dad, look out  the window. Dad, check out the bubble top electric car. Check out my  silver suit with wings. Check out our glass house on the hill. Check out the  slums of new Rio down below. Check out everyone flying around on jet  packs, bouncing off each other's foam bicycle helmets. Dad melted. He  hatched and began to sob like a child. Not lifting his arms, not doing  anything. He began to cry. He began to scream. Maybe he was hungry.  Why couldn't he just tell us he was hungry? He began to shake and move  his limbs infuriously as his weak body would allow. I guess he wasn't  paralyzed. He rolled himself off the bed. Crawled across the floor. Behind  there was now a wet puddle on the mattress. "My god, did his dick fall off  him too?" The room began to stink a little bit in the direction from where he  crawled. Cryogenics had brought my father back to life, but his mind was  blank. A complete blank. He would have to be brought up and retrained  child to adult from scratch. Was it worth it? I asked myself. No. I said to the  doctor, take him away! Put him to sleep. Let him die like he wanted to in the  first place. He dabbled in Buddhist and Hindu ideologies. So maybe he  would rather live his next, reincarnated life in some other form, and I had  denied him that chance. Or maybe I had even wrenched his soul back from  that of an eagle, or a hawk, flying over the Rocky Mountains, free. Or a  mountain goat in the forest or on the rocks, or something... Soon, picket  lines began to form outside. Some of the same organizations and vigilante  hate groups who were so successful in arranging for the banning of all  abortions were picketing in front of the hospital. Saying that my father's  corpse brought back to life must never be allowed to die again. What have I  gotten myself into? What have I done to my father and gotten him into? I  only wanted to cling to a little familiar entertainment. Some link to the  womb. Some living, breathing embodiment of our rich family history, of  which all else I had forgotten. He would have been better off like my  mother, still sheltering in place at the Bate's Motel.

You, you, you... want to be elected... for a day You, you, and you want to be selected Your rational paranoia’s bigger than Jesus Christ Feeling like you’re independent - you’re not allowed to fight 1980 body blow - the perfect opportunity Anti-trust just had to go, and leaders have immunity Don’t worry, please hurry, it’ll be your funeral If you don’t cooperate (Please don’t worry, you must hurry, please cooperate) Your attitude’s pretty brazen You know when to make nice Used to be so independent - you’re not allowed... Can you do me a favor? You’re disposable, so compassionate, goodbye Do me a favor, you’re disposable No, no, no, no... what are we gonna do with you? You’re hopeless You, you and you want to be elected for a single day You, you and you want to be... Don’t worry, please hurry, it’ll be your funeral If you don’t cooperate Don’t worry, please hurry, it’s going to be your funeral If you don’t just go away

Life follows you No matter how fast you run You can’t escape Another breath you’ll take No matter how still you lay Don’t sleep to dream Dream to live Open up your mind More than you thought you could They keep a watchful eye For you to step out of line Send death as a blue sky Send death as a blue sky No kindness comes From those up above How the towers fall They blame us all It’s a conscious plague Oh what a surprise It’s all lies So keep a watchful eye Lest you become The monster you despise Connect your heart to your mind There’s nowhere left to run We must let go of our harmful ways Look at all the suffering we create It’s a heavy price to pay For us to push it off another day Perish or Evolve Don’t sleep to dream Dream to live another way Outta this hell we made We’ve got to take A massive leap of faith Do whatever it takes To escape this perilous fate

I’m the skinwalker in your gym locker A dog walker in a shock collar, a shit-talking tommyknocker A hobgoblin in the wrong coffin, top bottom Stop talking, I pull jobs off but get caught often Red-handed and reprimanded, exactly as I’d planned it Form a committee to get me, it’s swiftly disbanded Where do you go? So, what do you know, though?  You’re a no-show in slow-mo, frozen in a snow globe Question the first, mention the second for the third or the fourth Plead the fifth on the sixth day in court Leverage the seventh, confiscate an eighth in the ninth circuit By the tenth time, finally find it certain Question the first, mention the second for the third or the fourth Plead the fifth on the sixth day in court Leverage the seventh, confiscate an eighth in the ninth circuit By the tenth time, you hide behind your curtains I’m a shapeshifter and a grave digger, say mister   Ever been awakened in your chamber by a shady figure? Ever been taken out your game by a taste maker?  You’re playing way out your pay grade, take a break or Make some mistakes and face the music, fake acoustic Tunes are playing through blown speakers in a jade Buick Compare stats as we tear ass to Fairfax Pull your hair back, let’s test the airbags and share that Question the first, mention the second for the third or the fourth Plead the fifth on the sixth day in court Leverage the seventh, confiscate an eighth in the ninth circuit By the tenth time, finally find it certain Question the first, mention the second for the third or the fourth Plead the fifth on the sixth day in court Leverage the seventh, confiscate an eighth in the ninth circuit By the tenth time, you’re no longer a person I’m a bloodsucker and a tongue-clucker Another undercover runner, what? Have a little fun, fucker Riches of a lore unfold in pictures of the story told Secrets seen repeated via whispers through a gloryhole Yeah, I got the doctor, and I locked her in a helicopter Shot an awful monster with a rocket launcher, officer Wanna swap sections? Drop the pressing, I’m not fessing Stop the session, I get it, forget it, wait, what was the question?

Isn't it pathetic? We all know the type, who go through life thinking high  school was the best time of their entire life. Who can't wait to sit down with  you, and go through old yearbooks, and find you again at the reunion.  What fabulous parties, what wonderful friends, who never wrote back  when the next summer ends. Twenty years later, it shows up in the mail. How the hell did they find me? I  moved so far away... Knock knock. Who's there? You are now summoned  to appear at your 20 year class reunion. Hell no, I won't go! What do I want  with them? What do they want with me? I stayed in touch with no one. And  now I'm nasty, I like what's extreme. Most of the people I knew back then  are strictly Kenny G. But I stayed in touch with no one, and that means not  one of them knows what I look like...  A lightbulb goes off in the corner of my eye. I'll give them something to  remember me by. I'll be there in force at the 20 year class reunion.  Get a devious friend, to pretend that he's me. Get a walker, or better yet a  wheelchair. Wrap myself in weird, antique medical devices that only  Marilyn Manson could love. Get the nastiest looking dominatrix Amazon  She Beast I know to play the riding crop wife who yells at me and beats me  everywhere I go.  Pretend to recognize everyone.  Stagger and grab them, and puke on their  name tags. And just when it couldn't get any more uncomfortable, more of  my weird friends disguised as cops, storm the building to arrest me. "We  found this wanted serial killer at last! Are you sure your kids are still safe at  the motel?" While the real me stands idly by, unrecognized, video taping  the entire thing. You always wanted to be movie stars. You always wanted  to be on TV, didn't you?  Coming soon to an underground cinema near you... The Reunion.

Those lingering echoes of sorrow If you listen they’re ringing loud But you can bet you’ll fall tomorrow As your hiding behind your shroud And now your Sturm und Drang Your filthy fun harangue Putting some kinks In your straight laces Through your paces Still and again You use them up Tie them up String them up Discard them Mad method with a shelf life Your pretty face is rotting on your skull But for the moment you’re slipping time’s knife And now your storm and stress A portrait of duress Putting some cracks in your Porcelain facade Your victims applaud As you use them up Tie them up String them up Discard them

(Instrumental)

Drag endangered pangolins Away from their homes Cram ‘em in cages They just sit and cry, destroyed Wuhan markets and bats Or was it Chinese science labs? Or did WE cause it by shutting down The CDC lab there in town? COVID-13! - Pandemic of stupidity COVID-13! - Excuse for violent bigotry COVID-13! - Ban all mandates to wear a mask COVID-13! - Don’t tell your friends you’re vaxxed Hey wait a minute, Don’t we have a right to life? To not catch it from you, and die! All I see is germs Those tufty, poxy germs Sure look like cute kitty cat toys Or those spiny floating mines That blew so many holes In so many World War II ships So many people died They’re still being sneezed and spewed By selfish germ bombs with attitude Lockdown over months ago If we weren’t as dumb as Florida Our kids can’t breathe with masks on their faces Storm the schools with AR-15’s Our biggest National Security threat? You’re lookin’ at it right there! COVID-13! COVID-13! COVID-13! Get dewormed on your own time!

You say we’re finished I say we’re done You say it’s over I say it’s done We’re not so innocent We know what has begun I don’t like your story Great minds think alike, crazy things But mine were a call for help, you see? Yours a death sentence more likely You say we’re finished I say we’re done You say it’s over I say it’s done Do not diminish What was once a bit of fun None so blind as those who don’t see Words can be painful But mine were a call for help, get it? Yours a death sentence more likely It’s not done, you’re done

Going to the Movies (Or the oft-cited “Laws of Physics” Part 2) I want to go to the movies, But it’s like it costs more every day ‘Cause it costs more to make a movie ‘Cause some of the people who make the movie Get more to make a movie Than the movies can pay, anymore My friends, for instance, don’t go to the movies anymore They can’t afford it But I can afford to go to the movies I’m in the printing business, you see And printing’s costing more ‘Cause it’s costing more to print It cost more for blank media, For ink and toner and tint But my friends can’t afford to go to the movies So I’ll pay their way and buy them a bag of corn and a pop And if that’s how it’s going to be, The cost of printing will have to increase, I’m sorry So printing’s costing more So I can go to the movies with my friends With those deadbeat suckers I call friends I did some printing for a guy from the movies They were wedding invitations They were laminated and embossed The movie guy ordered his wedding invitations With no concern about the cost But there’s not enough people like my friends, who know a fella like me With those deep, deep pockets full of printing business money That they can make the movies So they can make movies That me and my friends wanna see I want to go to the movies But there’s no movies I want to see My friends and me I remember the movies The printing business has been very good to me I remember the movies

                                    Sleep Descends Sleep descends. The Unspeakable Men jeer. Eyes and tongues and greasy, probing fingers. Sleep descends. The Unspeakable Men rage. Fists and blood and chaos. Hoodie monitors the Incel sites. Radicalizing misfits, egging the losers on. Befriending them. Empathizing with them. For many, he is their first friend, their only friend. The first who cares. The first who really listens. Slowly and patiently, Hoodie plants ideas. Slowly, very slowly, he shows them the light.  He pretends they thought of it first. He agrees with their brilliance. Step by step, he pushes them further. From ideas to words to action.  Most are too stupid and weak to act. No, that's not true. Most are too smart to ever act. It's precisely the weak and stupid that are easiest to push into action. The shooters all start the same. First with bad words on hidden sites. Then vicious slanders against perceived enemies - women, blacks, Jews.  Hoodie finds them, notices them, makes them feel important. They will martyr themselves for their brothers. They will martyr themselves for Hoodie. The Unspeakable Men laugh.                                          The Pygmalion  The Pygmalion jiggles on its haunches.  Its face is stretched in a vicious leer. It whispers obscenities that rip your belly open and leave you scrambling to hold in your intestines. Massacres, trench warfare, the rape of cities by invading armies. Here is where the Pygmalion thrives. You'd be surprised at how many disembodiments occur. War is rife with them. But they are rarely discussed. They are obscenity. They are Pygmalion. A cornered president threatens the press. He berates them. Mocks them. Calls them the enemy of the people. Pygmalion smiles. It smells the bloodbath that is coming. The idiot coward stirs the shit and ripens the field. His halfwit followers froth at the mouth. War is coming. It will be massacre after massacre after massacre. An orgy of blood. Men and women raped, slaughtered, and gutted. The idiot prince rants and raves and spews venom. Pygmalion awaits.                               Mr. Cantilever and the Missing "I've become one of the Missing," says the Demon. The Demon and Chet sat at a table on the outdoor patio of the Stanhope Hotel. Both were drinking coffee. No one could see them. Chet had been visiting the Demon nightly. He liked the Demon. And he thought of the Demon as a 'him'. The Demon referred to himself as a 'him'. It called itself Mr. Cantilever. Chet uses the name as well.  "Is it possible to become one of the Missing?" said Chet. "I thought you were born Angel or Demon and that the Missing were accidental hybrids." The Demon shakes his head. "Angels and Demons are without gender. We cannot mate, and would not mate with the other if we could. The Missing have gender as I do now. I am Mr. Cantilever." "Why that name?" asked Chet. "I discovered it. I have been remembering more and more. There is a language beyond the first tongue. The Missing use it." "Does it cause pain?" Chet drank his coffee and studied the Demon's expressions. "No." said the Demon. "The language is outside the worlds. It creates the worlds. It cannot be erased." "How is it that you remember?" said Chet. The Demon smiles. "This is my Nexus. Or, at the very least, I am somehow attached to the Nexus here. I am becoming myself, here." "It should be impossible. I thought there may be something wrong with my perception," said Chet. "You thought you were going mad?" asked the Demon. "Yes," replied Chet simply.  "I had the same thoughts." said the Demon. "Alone in this world, unable to shift, invisible to all. Then you came. Thank you. I know I have told you several times, but thank you for not forsaking me." "Cantilever is an architectural term. Why are you using it?" "I remembered it.  It's my name. The name is ancient. Most of our names are from architecture or engineering."  said the Demon.  "Are you changing?" "Yes." "Do you have gender?" "Not biologically. But yes, I have gender." "How?" asked Chet. "I don't know.  I need to reach the Nexus. I have the beginnings of a plan. Will you help me?" "It would be my pleasure," said Chet. He drank more coffee from the thermos as Mr. Cantilever told him his plan.                                     Jacob's Father Jacob White emailed his resignation. He left the office at midnight, got in his Jeep, and drove. He had accepted a job in Chicago. He told no one and said goodbye to no one. He drove through the night mindlessly listening to the radio. The Demon feasted on his neck. Feasted on his rage. The mindless, thoughtless rage. Jacob White thought of his father. A memory oozed into his thoughts. He was 8 years old. He was with his Dad in Manhattan. It was a beautiful, bright blue day. Jacob was thrilled just to be near him.  This man he rarely saw and who filled his mother with fear. They ate at a diner on Canal Street. His father smoked and drank coffee and read the paper as Jacob ate fries and a cheeseburger with a chocolate milkshake. It was the most delicious meal he had ever eaten. Later they walked through Chinatown. Ducks hung from windows. Small doorways filled with handbags and watches and jewelry and gadgets. Thousands of people rushing in every direction. His father held his hand and pulled him through the crowds. It was thrilling. They entered a smokey room filled with jittery men holding papers and looking up at screens. OTB blared the sign. Off Track Betting. His father shoved money into the window and looked up with the other men. He lost. And lost. And lost. And each time he lost, his rage increased. He didn't show it. But Jacob felt it. Something was wrong. Lost. Without speaking they sped back to the car. His father did not hold his hand and Jacob had to fight through the crowds to keep up. He was terrified of being left behind. He reached out to grab his father's hand but was slapped away. They reached the car and drove home. Silent. His father would not even look at him. Jacob was afraid to speak, afraid to make a noise.