Oh cremation is for bastard sons.
Your dead calories are for everyone.
Trees grow tomorrow, cuz' you die today.
Just ask any fellow, and you know he'll say,

Oh cremation is for bastard sons.
Your dead calories are for everyone.
Trees grow tomorrow, cuz' you die today.
Just ask any fellow, and you know he'll say,

Oh cremation is for bastard sons.
Your dead calories are for everyone.
Trees grow tomorrow, cuz' you die today.
Just ask any fellow, and you know he'll say,

Oh cremation is for bastard sons.
Your dead calories are for everyone.
Trees grow tomorrow, cuz' you die today.
Yes, trees grow tomorrow, cuz' you die today,
Yes, trees grow tomorrow, cuz' you die today,
to bury yourself is the only way! Hey!
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No arms to hold on
these velvet walls as I watch
my family scream
they know I'm leaving
and blinded by the sky I scream.

This monster flips and fucks me
tirelessly, and smiles as he does this, too.
Blackout.
I come to in a metal tube,
I'm sealed and I hear the gears
turning and I turn with them.

Light flashes
I see your face
Light flashes
You're blindfolded
Light flashes
Skin and hair.
Light flashes
Ditti Mo.

It's smells like smoke in here.

Ditti-itti-itti-itti-itti Mo.
Round-and-round-and-round and round I go.
Ditti-itti-itti-itti-itti Mo.
Go go go, until someone dies.

No legs to run away from this
No arms to get away from this
Tick tock and I am getting pissed,
I can't wait to me you.
Oh no, I can't wait to greet you,
Oh yes, I'm going to get close with your brains.

Click, oh, I guess you live
Click, oh, I guess you live
Click, oh, I guess you live...

Here I come mother fucker,
remember me?
See I am like a heated knife
and your skull is like butter
and the wall is where I'll end my trip
and bring some of you with me.

Ditti-itti-itti-itti-itti Mo.
Round-and-round-and-round and round I go.
Ditti-itti-itti-itti-itti Mo.
Round-and-round-and-round and round I go.
Ditti-itti-itti-itti-itti Mo.
Ditti-itti-itti-itti-itti Mo.
Ditti-itti-itti-itti-itti Mo.--Ditti Mo!


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The Even Horizon

“How much is that?”

“You can read.”

Stewert looked again at the price tag for the guitar. The letters had been melted off. He wiped the sweat from his head using his shirt. This place had no air-conditioning, horrible. Stewert thought about air-conditioning for a few moments, sweet, beautiful AC. He did not like this shop, not one bit; he felt comfort in this decision, it was the first he'd made in the last two hours.

“No one could read this. Just take a look, here.”

The shop keep sighed and took the paper, “it clearly says two-hundred.”

Two years ago, Stewert imagined, a great store opened up featuring guitars and other musical items. However, something went horribly wrong. The store came alive. After a bit of savage, and bloody rampaging in which the store ate many loyal customers, the store developed a bad case of indigestion. With this sickness came the worst of building-bowel movements; thus, the shop which Stewert currently occupied was created. Stewert also imagined the clerk was a byproduct of this waste. He looked the part. Unfriendly, dark, and dirty, the man definitely spawned from this shop. This made Stewert hate the man, the second decision of the night.

“I'll give you one-fifty.”

“Then you'll owe me fifty. I fail to see how that will benefit the shop.”

“Okay, one-eighty!”

“The store is closing in three minutes. Please leave.”

Stewert handed the man two-hundred.



NOTE TO READER: I have decended into the world of fast-pace video games and, purchased, customer centralization.
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