Underneath the Armani, the Gucci, the lies,
a stink pot simmering, a carcass that fries.
We strut, we swagger, these suits of cheap flesh,
parading our trophies, denying what’s fresh.

Love’s a greasy spoon breakfast, a hollow-eyed stare,
two bodies slam together, then vanish in air.
City’s a steel jungle, a concrete cocoon,
where dreams turn to dust ‘fore the afternoon.

The mirror’s a sucker punch, a cruel, shattering blow,
wrinkles like roadmaps where pleasure did flow.
We’re all just slabs of meat, sweating and slick,
dressed up for the slaughterhouse, with nowhere to stick.

But wait, a flicker, a rebellion’s hot spark,
screaming obscenities into the indifferent dark.
We guzzle, we gamble, a desperate craze,
pissing on the night sky in a boozy daze.

For even in decay, there’s a desperate gleam,
a middle finger flashing to the almighty scheme.
We’reardust and fury, a glorious mess,
living fast, then dissolving in the emptiness.