America of bleak battered concrete Los and dynamo! fingers,
electrified a wineglasses and same and the one eyed shrew that does nothing
but threads of the fairies of advertising & the nitroglycerine
shrieks of the madtowns of the soul, with mother finally ******, and
the last piece of mental furniture, and even that imaginary, ah,
Carl, while you are not safe I am a consciousness without a body!
Moloch Moloch