Boys run like water from the barrow to the trough
They'll never stop their running
Gunning for their brothers
This house is a hostel
It is peaceful but it's always emptying
Boys all want to be someoneHaven't you heard?
I am a flightless bird
I am a liar, feeding the facts to false fires
Pathos is born, born out of bullshit
In formal attire
But I'll score your string ensembleI saw my son at seventeen
The shutters made projections on his naked frame
But now at twenty-five, he simply cannot stay away
From the ketamine
With make-up on his sores
He spends an hour a day composing his own eulogy
Sometimes he sends me letters
But they're mostly garbled phrases and apologiesHaven't you heard? I am a flightless bird, I am a liar
Feeding the facts to false fires
Pathos is borne, borne out of bullshit in formal attire
Append a Bulgarian children's choir