Existance is futile

 Existance; -- Acceptance; Exitus Exiquus; 

Existance is futile, then grind is your booze. 

You win and you loose; youre a winner and snooze; 

until the navel gazes back in the ravine of your soul abused. 

Existance in Trance, for the fragrance of my Chemical Romance; 

as my diallect spills beans, I raise peanuts for your clothes buttons. 

The Alp wants to dance on your chest some canasta playing bakara; 

on a russian roulette, motherloading the ultimate orgasm from Kerouac 

Existance is clandestine, as angels are born and torn up every second of the hour; 

as you know what you will and deceive as you retreive what you deserve through 

sanities Blair. Being too sober, to let the Fool out, and show the emperors nudes. 

I scour in my minds last hour, for the maddened glee and cacophony 17 to 22 Sheckel!

Punk is Aqua Fons and the redeaming quality of every Bohemian to knock up Heathens moor; 

I want to grow some spores into your mush rooms, what neglected to dick a proper Richard. 

As straight as a jacket on a lantern, to make the crows scared of the scarce shadows verdict; 

addicted to the dictionary au contraire, ma fraire, never sorry for my french and german  manners. 

Existance is Torn into Madness and frivolouis serenity; sadness in the civil content of dying slowly. 

As your balls cannot push the dick to lionheart -- the asshole shows his ugly rear... and the doushe. 

Just zone out and embrace the ravine, the ravernous urge to jump and make the Fall and leaves... 

How else could you make tea, from the crushed remains of once lost souls, steamed up to date dares!!