gone fishing on the bars of saturn

it seems like the bars on my street
got their names from the rows of a jail cell pattern
and all the lanes are paved in blood

cant somebody help the dying?

no
not again
the initiate stopped traffic
on the earth
so fucking tragic
the lack of human compassion
for the worlds pure and utter panic
from the mind of an addicted adept
in the attic of the sanctioned temple
plays the static of the imperial bell
garden sanctuary of the people's hell
sending cries to the lords of the needle's spell
we've killed the little beetle
tainted paint on the mural of the spirit steeple
in the memory of the present events
and a cataclysm of spent elements
like bullets cracking the pavement
breaking old ground crumbling the foundation
under a secret subway radio station

laser cannons are real
and happen to have mass appeal
because the critical movement
is set up for the steal
brewing to the music
drinking in the toxic reel
who marked the grave
of the murdered slaves
and who signed the deal

didnt know
this would be you
didnt show
any signs of slowing
didnt know
the streets would explode
in the wind
our dreams are blowing

to send a message in the water

surviving in the sky