You feel goaded
I feel goated
Tact, I forego it
I ride in and you’re gonna know it
Knife sin, and open throat it
Shoot the ground, make bunny hops
Clowns all around, I’ve got funny ops
From my brain extract a pinecone
Surgical instruments on a metal tray
My mind’s own magic seeing stone
Moat around my mind
Dead horses spilled into its silt
Slit along the belly, lacking sitters
Victims of bitter conflict
Built into its sinister sediment
All the knights I killed
I fed into there afterward
Corpses fell into that foetid water
Floating dead, Agamemnon’s daughter
On mirrorbrown surface bailey’s tall towers tattooed.
Alchemisland 
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