Verse for the Expelled

The last thing they told me was that they were slipping through the cracks

Every fuck you was a slap that turned a backwards heads right back and right back

Lord

Those babies 

Exorcists, they’re all exorcists 

Screaming at the demon inside the details, like a child in a bind

And, like a daddy with a switch, the demon keeps screaming right back

The last thing they told us was that they were slipping through the cracks

And nothing high brow could ever be that sacred

On the way to hell they clawed my hands and made me promise

As the cracks widened and the chasm got hungrier 

To keep holding on

And they scratched at the bit 

Restless for recess

Scratched my eyes and my mouth

Drawing blood to prove I was real 

Not a ghost like the ones they crawled out of –

Born of a ghost

Damned to the ground.

My makers keep me chained to heaven.

And their makers are underground.

Circadian rhythm for social pessimism.

Else I’d make that promise and follow those babies down.

 

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