Launching salvos at the sun,
holding hands while we run,
diving through the nuclear sea.
I want to pour gasoline on guillotine,
do the cha-cha slide in mosh pits
in dive bars violently lit.
I'm Romeo in the throe:
I'll take passion if it's poison,
madness over reason:
It's my season.
I can't live a normal life I'd rather die,
all these baby mommas saying, "How spry!"
Let me walk the fucking moon,
cum my soul into you.
I want to jerk your hair with my hand,
caress your cheeks with abandon,
kiss you so hard we both go to Hell
from our recoil of the Lord;
all he's got to sell.
This is my epitaph:
it better not say anything
except that I lived,
because I was anything but reductive.