Slipknot (credit to Corey Taylor)

What a skeletal wreck of man this is. Translucent flesh and feeble bones The kind of temple where the whores and villians try to tempt the holistic tomes Running rampant with free thought to free form in the free and clear And the matters at hand are shelled out like lint at a laundromat to sift and focus on the bigger, better, now We all have a little sin than needs venting virtues for the rending and laws and systems and stems a rift from branches of office do you know what your post entails? Do you serve a purpose or purposely serve? Wind down inside of your atavistic allure the value of a Summer spent and a Winter earned For the rest of us there is always Sunday. the day of the week that reeks of rest but all we do is catch our breath so we can wade naked into the bloody pool and place our hand on the big black book. To watch the knives zig-zag between our aching fingers. A vacation is a count-down T minus your life and counting time to drag your tongue across the sugar-cube and hope you get a taste what the FUCK is all this for?! What the hell's goin' on?! SHUT UP!! I could go on and on, but, lets move on shall we? Say, you're me and I'm you and they all watch the things we do and like a smack of spite they threw me down the stairs - haven't felt like this in years - the great magnet of malicious magnanamous refuse let me go and plunge me into the dead spot again. That's where you go when there's no-one else around its just you and there was never anyone to begin with now