My monkey

I had a little monkey I sent him to the country and I fed him on ginger bread
Along came a choo-choo, knoked my monkey coo-coo, and now my monkey’s dead
At least he looks that way, but then again don’t we all?

What I make is what I am
I can’t be forever

“make you, break you, make you, break you, lookout”
We are our own wicked gods, with little g’s and big dicks
sadistic and constantly inflicting a slow demise

the primate’s scream of consonance is a reflection
of his own mind’s dissonance