Satyr’s Crown

Wheels dead spun in the same mud rut
Poison trickles up to my head from my gut
Nerves gunshot fathers blood clot rotting in my veins
Robbed of my will doomed to fulfill my genetic fate

Wilds call comes canned from a cold steel vat
Howl to a neon moon then collapse on plastic grass
Rail tire fires heaps of tires and a bed of broken glass
Awaken to this fever dream keep picking these old sickly scabs

And if I am destined for this
Half life of decay I'll
Leave a trail of desolate mirth in my wake
Paragon of vice
Lay the satyr's crown on my brow
Every drink an oath
Every toke a vow