Polished surgeons at your televised autopsy, do we have to announce
The results of what lies beneath your Y incision like the forensic
Pathologist has a pearly smile and chants the statistics while fluorescent
Bars beat down on a morgue full of anticipating audience, and
Applause rolls like a death rattle.
Maybe the heart they took out was slick with blood, maybe it was
Frozen over or plated with purest gold, clogged with diamonds in
The tubes that pulsed out passionate lyrical heaven forever in hell
When the world is your cage.
Graves lined with glitter and internationally
Aired funerals, change the channel if it's boring, it's not like
Any of this is real enough to be more than a cancellation of
This evening's episode.