My North American way to die

Hello stranger, my name is Dick Badman, this fall it's so... tubelike white
sometimes sensations cannot be explained with words.

It's a basically brief descent... this unsound vertigo
it ain't sane. There's nothing remotely happy in me. In this.

But anyway you wouldn't get it, you'll never understand, you are alien to me, like a being arrived from another planet... and I like to make you feel it.
You thought you knew every bit about me, every particle. But you don't know shit, all your perceptions about me are wrong, so how you expect to understand this, my North American way to die?

And there's no redemption from this point
all the forgiveness has been fried.

And sometimes you asked me why, well: ask that to yourself
the mirror it's all focused on you.

And you know that there's no reason, it is not about reasons
it's about feel, my North American way to die



-when the dénouement gets cannular and faster.-