Warming Up the Brain Farm

Dear God, the patient’s best intentions have sadly faltered
Despite his newly installed, varnished brain
And being force-fed gallons of viscous, demented liquor
He is determined to obtain the new drone spiders' trophy
He dreams of becoming a scorpion who never sweats
Quite frankly, I’m sickened to have this individual infiltrate my headspace
He talks of lascivious laughs haunting his every second
As the clock spits, clicks, and time speeds by
In the form of a neon snake
Massive delusions? Very probably
I fear for my safety
He is as weak as his fellow man
I am now surrounded by hypocrites, liars, drunks
Clowns, fools, sycophants, and the desperate
I insist we barter with the moon to sell the patients cohesive lyrical maps
In exchange for a vision of the future
Stricken with grief, I have no choice but to turn to lethal toxins
Hardcore punk paste
Allstars takin' over
Stick 'em up, motherfucker!
We’re going to throw it down
Nothing seems that weird anymore