Colors of such that our eyes were burned   And gold boughs from which to hang oneself   We've got reasons like the seasons ringing   We've got weapons without name   Mirthless though dressed up in comedy   The screen's glow is hiding the mammon beast   It's cauterized the senses that allowed us real life   The carrot is how we avert our eyes   And in time we're willing to lick and to contrive   Spending in digital atmosphere   Smiling as we've learned to love the stick   Choking back emotions into character armor   The wizened paw of Crom is a-hanging off his leg   His ribs are sticking out like a leather birdcage   He's aged so many years in the past few days   Oh Crom you're such a good dog   Ease this pressure, lay down weaker,   gasp and shudder and never stand up again   Cannot feel them, cannot feed them, cannot hear them,   as the dogs they bale and whine   I am weak we are all weak, but I'm not as weak as you;   with a dead dog in your arms   With a needle and its tip to suck the life and starve the dog,   the boy is lying on the floor,   Raise him colder to the sky.