Fuck you and the worms you rode in on. This double vision is dividing all thought. If this cortex is remotely cerebral, I'll eat the mind from under your hat. Once in separation, all eyes all over the place. These place. These place. These place. Never quite sure whether I fear to tread. Or just quite where to tread. There is no product that can shine this condition; though the colour running through these streets is a shite to behold I'll tell you. Ride the worms with me. If all is soil of creation and all our every particle, all intermingled is but a happy dust storm, waiting to disappear up a willing god's nose - then where should the faithful stand? I suppose it's irrelevant to a grain of sand. How are beings of pure sound to retune their nervous wreckage A golden ratio of broken radios / twists, ticks and twitches Into the frequency that tunes us all? Universal note, no, no - ground black. Distortion / Spirit contortion. Attenuator twisted hard right. Spit-balled through the night. All spirit full volume. Silence sold out to the man, man. In flux with transcendence. To rise above material putrescence? A blaze of hammers from the skies Race your corpse and aim heart high. Ride the worms with me.