p.s. (pleasure slums)
I can’t stand another day in the pleasure slums
this half-life is decaying with the medicine
there’s no here and there’s no there
just empty rooms or deadly air
so I recline
I bide my time
I unwind and turn off my mind
because I can’t stand another day in the pleasure slums
taking time and claiming days
charts and stats and brain decay
busy hands and idle minds
keep a song to sing to pass the time
if work is freeing you from the toil
punch season’s clocks until spring uncoils
i'm starved for oxygen
need more breath and this masquerade will be my death
because I can’t stand another day in the pleasure slums
this half-life is decaying with the medicine
quiet rolling through the house
loaded wires hum as the dark comes down
to bless the light with it's blackened grace
only temporarily trading places
raised online in the binary days
scroll back your chat log to read history
push within me and pull without
we race toward checkered flags of doubt
because I can’t stand another day in the pleasure slums
sleep and dreams used to come easily
now I close my eyes chemically
electric sheep on acid driving royal christened semen riders
while you call on me like an endless prepaid telephone your mother gave you
imitating life stealing art
with no audition I got the part in
screens of stories on some four chan
get your front row truman show pass while you still can
because I can’t stand another day in the pleasure slums
this half-life is decaying with the medicine