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Fuck them, blood night

The inaugural cut on their flawless skin

Flesh rich, pure strikes

The galleria at the surgeons whim

So abruptly, nothing feels wrong

We are all brought to the same level

When they cry, so assuring, I've made no bad decisions

For once everyone gets their turn

Flailing around, like their favourite performers

Their limbs pirouette, detached from their bodies

No return for the weak minded

Confront me and see your true standing

Always carried by the arms of others

The vast miasma barely held together

Endless hoarding, while we had to suffer

Never blameless, no test will be tougher

The final prize, the opulent man

A bloated symbol of supposed winners