I had a little monkey I sent him to the country and I fed him on ginger bread

Along came a choo-choo, knoked my monkey coo-coo, and now my monkey's dead

At least he looks that way, but then again don't we all?



What I make is what I am

I can't be forever



'make you, break you, make you, break you, lookout'

We are our own wicked gods, with little g's and big dicks

sadistic and constantly inflicting a slow demise



the primate's scream of consonance is a reflection

of his own mind's dissonance


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