here's to the neurons that came with your face
a curse less than acne or a particular taste
here's to the dancing squares that occupy space
a dirge to a glockenspiel that will soon become waste
i can make assumptions like the water makes a bridge
listen for hollow sounds underneath before you dig
send me to the exorcise if they say it's sacrilege
force confess the reality that i believe is rigged
yeah, i've got faith and it grows like a mushroom
and before i consume any grief i spell it with an ism
the system is large but infinitively doomed
and if we don't nut up we'll be lost in the schism
so here's to the synapses that came with our pain
a curse more than taxes or a belligerent roar
and here's to the dancing squares inside of your brain
a summer fling that made us all feel like whores
by kevin walsh, 2011
