If you could fathom the extent of subtle death in altercations and masturbation...a full descent for the masses, an oration for all we were. Dead convictions for you and me, dirty hands and dirty minds. A smile fits nice between soft spoken lies. Besides, we're dressed to kill--ingest it all, we'll pay the bills. The conscience dies. Impatience grows. The failures fit. The regret shows. We're the human wreckage buzzing like flies, and wear your best tie...the mood is cold up there.