Getting to the Bottom

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I wonder how the old folks are at home.

I wonder if it's hotter than the devil's dick on fire. Any old sock that is soaked,

I mean completely doused in kerosene, set ablaze the way it's here right now.

I wonder if my friends are fast asleep, or are they off together somewhere stumbling through the streets making memories that will be forgotten with the moon, leaving them to wonder why their legs and arms are bruised.

Do their livers scream for water?

Are their brains about to swell through the soft part of their temple while they grind their teeth like hell?

Are they talking o'er each other, leaving nary a stone unturned, getting to the bottom of an angst hard-fought to learn?

I never wanna get that way again, feeling like my head's a house with a roommate moving in who's incessantly talking, never slowing down, possessed with evil urges to burn it to the ground.

With a tongue twitch like a lizard and a grin just like a rat, backed against a corner after pestering the cat, preparing to be peeled open just as easy as dessert, getting to the bottom of an angst hard-fought to learn.

The pheromones of this city secrete a sin quickset to call forth from the recess of my mind the fear of death, the thrill my heart might thump so hard it breaks a joist or worse, getting to the bottom of an angst hard-fought to learn, getting to the bottom of an angst hard-fought to learn.