My flavor is the stuff of locusts. Hot chili firebrand spitting volcano Teeth. Bleeding skies, sulpher mines... The foul breath of Satan's favorite Gutter worm. You feel me when I'm close - an ice wind of steel stilettos Hammered in your spine. Quicksilver nausea spinning, spewing forth and Everything's a mess. every posession you ever had - wrecked - lying at your Feet. Telegrams that tell you God is dead piled high on the TV. The Incessant TV. Burbling. Distorted. A cheesecake nun advertising 20 brands Of sea cow lemon shit in 60 different languages. A gargoyle handjives for The hard of hearing. Subliminals. Criminals. Phoney buisinessmen in thick Rimmed glasses. Bad comedians. Laughing bags aping the Hallelujah chorus - The forgotton version - out of key (slightly). Just enough to annoy you. My flavor is cheap perfume on rotting Man-Ray maggots! Dead maggots. My Flavor's a wound re-opening by surprise, green fishes eyes flowing out. Wriggling things. Gelatinous. Still alive and screaming - out of key (slightly). Just enough to annoy you. My flavor's a plunging elevator a Millisecond before it hits the cellar. A cellar with mutated rats. Old - Very old - lost teeth. Abortions. Garbage. So pungent it hums - out of Key (slightly). Just enough to annoy you. My flavor's your flavor. Deep Within you. Hidden. Waiting to get out...
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