Widowsucking

It is all so intensely dull
Only the worst of us are ever happy
I do want but you can’t commit and it’s not that cool
To be one more roué in your stable
I am wicked 'cause I have not peaked
Your ugliest mind says «disease is an addiction»
I sent you doves, they returned in shocks of charcoal
Their song was sulphuric peels of anemic echo
Made me proud that my treble was thin and plenty deformed
A maenad’s curse to call my own dead mantis of a widowsucking
An effusion of paranoid ovations in holiday times
Sickly harvest invectives against old friends
The spite and all the hassle, the jeerings in frenetic clips
Why are we still hanging around feeding on oestrus blues?
If it wasn’t so lame, I would give to you my true love
No not on the hex of the 706 of rosy crucifixion