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A few surprises
Standing at the edge
I look down, and there, cross-hatched
Shadowed boxes, they hummmm, they feel alive
There are millions of them, they each house a life
Each one like a satellite dish, giving me glimpses
Looking into one, looks like lunch, grovelling on the floor
Another, looks like a lover's spat, out on the couch again
Look over there, a few children watching television
One is ironing, one it singing in the shower, one is dying
They all look the same, if you blink, blink, cross your eyes
It looks like a grey blur, a charcoal smirk of scarred face
I feel nauseated, looking at the hive, the cacophany
The boxes look alive, like they own the inhabitants, the prey
They are not in control
Like a host body overrun with critters
They are one in their gross dance of slavery
Already felt-lined and stuffed, already coffined
This is the suburbs of hell, the local graveyard electrified
Standing over them all, I see a giant mouth
And eyes, eyes that eat everything that lives
The stink of dead evaporate meat and hungery leather lips
Lips made of exploded stars and supernova dust
A mummified face, like a hurricane force, expels dead exhausts
And these boxes, no one moves anymore, they never did
It was an illusion of the beast, eating it's own children
