My skin barely hanging from my bones
and the music roars loudly and careless.
We are but shallow figures of men;
because Giacometti saw us as we are
and all the extra meat suits we've got
are nothing but lard to be burned
to fill the air with the stench of hell,
just to remind us of humanity's grotesque
and that the Tower of Babel was a flop,
because we're all destined to damnation.