Death In Vegas

The lynch mob they hide from the infinite hole
As judged genocide's executioner goes
To crucify venus in cinemascope
The narcotic preachers are happy
High priest the mesmorous, the soul auctioneer
Sells scorpion tightropes, while suffer on fear
His necropolis uses, the scourge of the queer
He is married to the truth-incinerator
There are hands in my pockets
Pulling at my spine
Eggs bearing insects
Hatching in my mind
The stones in my shoes
Get sharper all the time
In the soft sick underbelly
In the carcass of these times
I fly in my head leaving terminal narcosis
A poisoned mind will make you blind
Beware of trojan horses
A dead head, blunt needle
You've broken your wings