Lirama

I had a little monkey I sent him to the country
And I fed him on ginger bread
Along came a choo-choo, knoked my monkey coo-coo,
And now my monkey's dead
At least he looks that way, but then again don't we all?

What I make is what I am
I can't be forever

"Make you, break you, make you, break you, lookout"
We are our own wicked gods, with little g's and big dicks
Sadistic and constantly inflicting a slow demise

The primate's scream of consonance
Is a reflection of his own mind's dissonance