Breaking Apart

Broken bones,
like broken homes,
there's blood in the gutter tonight.

Patchwork dreams,
like patchwork seams,
they slowly split apart and give you a fright.

Bad trip down to the Underworld,
I've got no mates and I've got no girl.
I'm standing on the beaches of fire and brim,
stoned as fuck again.

My chemical trail mix,
of smurfs and pin pricks.
I've got a voice in my head
that's singing songs about the dead.

Rising walls,
like rising falls,
We just can't make any sense.

Crunching glass,
like crunching brass,
We spend our lives in the wrong tense.