In the continuance of numbers, colors and desire I vow to not fly alone out against the queen mother Hecate, and Lovecraft's witch cult, I read too much And when Cthulu calls? I sucker up to smoke on the porch. No evil dead, only a copper moon And the surge of silver, promise, and loathing The prophets have all come out to join Amazon No not the jungle; the syndicate. They say "number of the beast", I think social security They say "our boys fight brave" and I say because they won't fight. Old lizards, Azaroth, when I count - - the night it chirps and chides like a romantic whore drunk and desperate for anything but what she needs. People wonder of Babalon but she is everywhere Look around you... Women are beginning to wake up and realize they can make as much or more than men Briefcase, navy blue suit, and unconquerable vulva the Amazon woman, sells her secret book on of all things "thinking" and we buy it -- Because, for apparently the first time ever people are realizing walking around depression is boring, you don't get laid or paid. Britney, Paris, Hilary, we gobble it up like junked out pedophiles. Jump, jump up and down on the new Marylyn Monroe -- it is, the only way you can express thoughts after all, buy comparing everything to the closest image you have in memory for it. Hence why you can't see a UFO clearly therefore call it a UFO You only perceive what you can name, and then what? You're fattened, put to work, educated to a 6th grade level if you don't have money and sent to do a slaves existence with a smile, four friends, a TV football game, and some beer (save the lotto quick pick). Babalon will pour the night through our plastic veins and we will all get Hiroshima on it.