The Jesus Christ song

It's Sunday night, I'm Obamed, I'm a black man with supposed left winged instincts and a frequency modulation voice, I'm a mucus on the background decoration of "Saturday night live", I'm a fissure in the black sun.


The psycho circus goes ahead: the existence
and when the democracy it's fraud and control and we all are cows: what is left?

I don't need no control, I don't need no digital retina readyng my mynd from the sky
I don't want it
I hate it, it sickens me.

We learn badly, we live without thinking 'about'
and now look around you: "is the life worthwhile, to be lived?"

They say.

You want vital decomposition, death and cold oblivion, you got nothing to do with me
I despise every little thing you are, every rotting cell of your aged brain, tired of living.



Putrid at heart, you're a mummy roaming among the tombs, a creature of insanity, hater of anything that's lively or joyful
that's why cursing you and the ones of your kind is blessing the World.


It's Monday dawn: I'm a coffee: the effervescence of the mob out there, idiotic, it's calling for its own disgrace
the face of them all is my very face, I ruminate and digest, I'm a vital process, a fracture in my own cerebrum...do you believe? In me

because I am an obamed, Afro-Americanized statue that is acceptable, cosmetically talking.
What a relief to relieve my li(f)e.

It's Thursday, Friday, Wednesday noon or evening, I would give my life for a black marionette with frequency modulation voice
you think I'm stupid because I didn't walk your path
you think that there's one only way for each thing to be done: you, frustrating trash

that's why I wanna burst with you, after setting every damned and stupid patrol car and house on fire.

Let the fucking end come
Let it come asshole, I'm not afraid, though I should

I'm not afraid anymore...perhaps that's what is going to make you bleed.

It can take forever, and ever, and ever,
and ever, but you won't win.