The sex shops are blaring "I Wanna Know What Love Is", and the cops are laughing fit to bust, cuz they found love and beat it to death with clubs. They don't have a fucking care in the fucking world. It's an ugly city tonight, and we're getting fucked up. Torrents of piss on all we know. We never find peace in who we are. We're getting stabbed in the back by our own arms. No light. No hope. The savage fury of untamed concrete. Watch it churn. Let it burn. Because decay is a growth industry and everyone I know has a graduate diploma in fear, but they're all too shit-scared to fucking look at it. Look at it! There is no hope here. Just shitting and shopping. Coffee or meth. Death. Drenched in communion whine, we become everything that we hate. Our tragedies cycle through and oscillate, helpless in the face of machinations.