Starve an Artist, Cover Your Trash

Still balancing the bar, stiff-necked. Withstanding change like a tragic
play or holy war between the sects. The carnival stands but the cities will
tend to move. Like planets around a star, or water circling the drain? Sould
less potboilers. Avant guardian angels on the wrong page of the map. Avant
guardian angel I am heartache, let me pass. Still holding up the wall. Still
life. A landmark placed for the photo op. He’s got no teeth, he doesn’t bite an
empire falls but the cockroaches stay to breed. Is it superior genes, or won’t
death collect such awful things? Yes it’s garbage, but does that mean that it’s
art? Gourmet carnage, a pulse without a heart. If you leave it hanging long
enough, someone will be amazed and just because it’s personal doesn’t mean it’s
not cliché. If it doesn’t look like something now, steal it before it does.
Avant guardian angel on the wrong page of the map. Avant guardian angel I am
heartache, let me pass I will be there to help straighten out the frame that so
proudly displays my own death certificate.