| Well, he collapsed with Stevens-Johnson Syndrome on the E.R. floor |
| Panic attacked, anaphylactic and ataxic |
| The way he spun his butterfly risked all six his phalanges |
| Roman candles at both ends in his synapses |
| And the method with which he recycled his humors |
| Trojan Horse’d his blood-brain barrier and raised the LD-50, yes, yes |
| And through flight-or-fight revelation shame, the Black Box Warrior |
| He skipped this town and headed straight down history |
| Shields himself from reason in a Kevlar baby-blue Tuxedo |
| Quilted from the finest fibers, flesh, and fiberglass, and flowers |
| His ego a mosquito, evil incarnate/good incognito |
| Pops placebos for libido, screaming «bless the torpedoes» |
| For what? For what? For what it’s worth |
| If it was going to kill you, boy, it would have by now |
| For what? For what? For what it’s worth |
| There’s no more looking back, it’s looking up or looking down |
| Well, he was wearing stolen rubber shoes and wrapped a poison ivy noose |
| Around his Lotus jugular when they came |
| Well they found him with a map to every victim of his love |
| And a tattoo of a blue jay on his face |
| And they waited for his vital signs to lie and let a flat line cry |
| A hymn out in Hungarian Harmonic |
| But he cocked his noggin, through his stoma sang, «For Auld Lang Syne |
| Happy birthday to the succulents, I’ll die your hydroponics» |
| His rib cage was a hornet’s nest, palpitations set the beat |
| His vagus nerve a turk’s head knot, an axel hitch, a carrick bend |
| He wondered if Christ-Consciousness would charge a cancellation fee |
| Auf wiedersehn, au revoir, he gripped his wits right by their ends |
| For what? For what? For what it’s worth |
| If it was going to kill you, boy, it would have by now |
| For what? For what? For what it’s worth |
| There’s no more looking back, it’s looking up or looking down |
| Hello, welcome. Why don’t you take a seat? Get comfortable, relax, |
| take a second if you need to. Now what’s bothering you? Well, why don’t we |
| start at the beginning? |
| Growing up, how was your relationship with the fundamentals of conscious |
| existence? Did you have xenon orchid sinews spilling down the outer center of |
| your blooming Escher/Mandelbrot head? And how about claustrophilic tendrils |
| clapping caskets closed on seven-knuckle thumbs, did you get along well with |
| the Gideon Bugler pineal glands, your projector eyes casting sci-fi's on your |
| STR’d strands? Tell me about your nerve to steal nerves of steel from under |
| Bacchus' bloody nose. Did Namibian Himbas tie-dye you, your ears pierced with a |
| Phineas Gage flagpole, did you die before your day? |
| Thursday traction, Tuesday titration. My hope is to assess through my objective |
| report of your subjective conjecture whether this proprietary blend of |
| expertise and seasoning works as well as this transorbital ice pick |
| Holistic ballistics, you got a better idea? It’s about the best we could come |
| up with. What, you think ideas spread because they’re good? No, they spread |
| because people like them. So here we are once again. Holding, as it were, |
| a mirror up to your mirror |
| I guess it’s just something people do |
| A bloody knife to split your infrastructure, wine to rev your motor function |
| Coital machinations of the dead |
| Well you mainline your animus, karate chop your abacus |
| And learn to be an animal instead |
| But I never did think you better than this, your modus operandi |
| Causes Nazi/Skoptzyism and suicide |
| Why to thine own self be true when it is you who are the problem |
| Not the things you do but something sick inside |
| Lithium and Dialectics, boy you really is defective |
| CBT don’t seem effective for that Cluster B, accept it |
| Offer up your innocence, please ignore the side effects |
| You’ve lost your mind and almost lost your life before, so you’ll be fine |
| For what? For what? For what it’s worth |
| If it was going to kill you, boy, it would have by now |
| For what? For what? For what it’s worth |
| There’s no more looking back |
| And why would you want to look back? |
| I mean, it’s no good looking back |
| So try to look forward now |
| For what? For what? For what it’s worth |
| If they were gonna get you, boy, they would have by now |
| For what? For what? For what it’s worth |
| There’s no more looking back, it’s looking up or looking down |