Echo Chamber

My arm rests in the plaster of Paris

I've suffered an orgy of terrible thoughts 

So it's best to zone out, in lieu of sobering up 

The night is paralyzed in its fancy costume

There is a nuance, in the precept

That I can't avoid 

I've been pushed to a dangerous point 

In slow motion, like an agent

An ailment

The postman with a time capsule 

A troglodyte with no destination

In complete silence 

I hear the church bells tolling

Once again I'm procrastinating

Can't overcome my addictions 

In complete silence

I hear the bells tolling

Corollas bleed Mississippis 

It's boring like shaving potatoes

We're headless, all of us 

I'm in a white shirt, buttoned up 

Repeating myself.