Sickwebbing 5-8

On Dani Compose

Sickwebbing5: Symphony Disease

The drama unfolds on a nowhere, holy

Smokes, I dunno where they took the phonies

The morbid whores that were told to hold me

Bring me the head of Alistair Crowley!

Well I’ll just have to smash your face in, fuck

I’ll cut you up like a punched up book

I’ll eat your head, throw the rest away

Driven in sickle, watch the chest decay

String you, hung by your opened heart

Pull your torso floorward then apart

Fuck your eyes till you’re fucking blind

Machete dice unbinded spine

Put needles in your neck and then

I’ll swing you round like a funnel cloud

Peck pedals at your wrists again

Stick fingers in, then I tunnel out

Pull your ribs out, kick ‘em down

The city of guts, hey, pound the town

Your sounds are lousy, gonna play

Su’ Tom Waits, hey man, hoist that rag!

Anguished dominatrix hanging in the air

I manage her to capture all the legionnaires

Set ‘em straight, send ‘em to hell, I’m there

Hope that the devil’s got some money to spare

Brains in a bag, bag to the saw

Saw to the hands, hands on the wall

Split the tongue like a rich man’s road

Swagger round the room with a bitch in tow

Whoa, ho now, showdown, who’s the reddest

Your opened head or this blowtorch extendeded

Two and two make one good story

Half of you’s a stew, all good and gory

Lordy, hold me, it’s oh so cold

It’s freezing, Jesus; it’s fifteen thirty

I’ve been down here for seven years

I need to go, I- I need to go!

I need to go Jesus Fucking Piss!

I’m melting! I’m exploding ! Fuck! Fuck! Shit

Motherfucker! It’s a black hole! The whole world is ending!

Murder doesn’t mean anything because the world s ending!

Everyone’s dead! The whole world is dead!

Sickwebbing6: Screamed from the Back of Time

Girlfriends yelling “Misfit! Misfit!”

Piss kid, bitches won’t grant you wishes

Pictures of ditches of lists of tourniquets

Kick your limp wrist shit in with a wingtip

Rivals, arced, thrown here, present day

One creamy as a baby, one low as grave

Some words for figuring, some words for fun

Two bullets in the wrong end of a loaded gun

Some photos of shoes- picture of a vest

Pools of white eggs and an empty nest

So much burning paper and a treble clef

Fuck your birth, (your) death; I just want the rest

He said

I wrote his story like he wrote their drugs

In my head, unsewn like a swarm of bugs

I spotted his flaws and invented them, oh

I defend my words before the box office gross

Well he wanted that sex but he had no cash

And he had no jokes, but he had that mask

And he had those straps to get in up them fast

He just wanted the payoff, didn’t want the math

He gave me the anger to kill a man

Willed a man the guilt to die again

Bi polar, inversin’, I’m negative two

I’m you unglued, stuck to abuse

Fistful of bullets and pockets full of no gun

Failured lovers, and ways to clone them

Larger portioning, summer snowmen

He sees better men and he wants to know them

Sir, sir, you beat me at a game

My name is Dimes and you made me lame

No, no, a cemetery head

A milky little shit living happy and sick

And listless, impish

Instincts

Sickwebbing7: Your Head Smells like Vodka

She was drunk and slick

Head dunked on a glass

Ran the city from the corner

Of her eye, of a mask

I fought her like her father

Like snipers mercing martyr fodder

I felt her drag me down to drunk

Then I put a bike inside her trunk

I’ve been driving up and down

This fucking drugged up alcoroad

She’s whining cough cough making sounds

I found the button, shut it down

She’s the clown, and I’m the king

In my dreams, a bottle across her chin

She’s chess; I beat her with a fancy bat

Confused and mad like a dancing cat

Star collapsing, door is shut

I tell you what, this spore’s a slut

Cut, cut, cut is the moment’s word

Shut up, shut up, fucking verbs!

She burst into flames, started cursing my name

Started lurching and turning and pursing her frame

What’s worse, I will say, is the place where the stain

That she placed; on my brain, such a strange place to fuck

She had seventeen cats that she lived inside of

She’s got no head, though she gives in spite of

I wore her like a pair of sunglasses

Masses of ashes stacked high on the mattress

She loved like oil, work like a drum

Foiled my pose, kiss blow and come

When she’s done, ghost in bed

Grow like poison, toys and heads

Her house was haunted like her eyes

I know she’s dead cause I’m seeing her die

I left through the wall, left her thorax cracked

Like the story of a widow, sad and black

Sickwebbing8: Dressed in Boxes

So what did I learn when I showed up late?

The opened gates, philes, faces manifested in eighths

My tuxedo was hate, my palette elated

The president was present, filling up his plate

A duchess and her crutches soon approached my self, eh

Chandeliers hung high, holding tight to belts

Am I worth a damn? See how well I sell

Ah hell, you know this is just show and tell

Dressed in boxes, sluts and cocksmen

Tall glasses filled with wine, filled with bubbles, filled with polishing

Polish men stepped lively like improvisational jazz

The monochromish monarchy and their terrible hats

They saw through my alien to the greatness within

I swaggered like a dagger hanging nighly from my side

I spoke of the politics regarding specimens

They croaked like impossible about their parliament

I meant what I said and I did what I do

The duchess hung by my dagger, I drag my news

I paraded her around, march her into the dancefloor

What remained was her crown and her gown and her shoes

Please, we’re all weak for outer space

The music is coming from beneath the air

Senators and millionaires are paired in squares

I see the world burning everywhere

This is the night of the year, of our lives

We’re all going to die, sick of asking why

A meteor of some ill design will eventually collide

We’ve invented the future and we need not buy more time

No, no! No more of that shit! That there’s some shit!

Everyone’s plates are cleaned, never ever been piled

Swallowed too many lies, buried too high with style

Put the money down, child, throw it to the mother fucking ground!

We’re here to dance, son, you see the sky is falling down!

Pop that collar one way, then you pop it the other

Spin your partner, drop your cigarette in the gutter

The moon might be our impossible father with a gun

This time it might be the last thing we ever done