The Way America Feels Right Now Can Only Be Expressed In Unmetererd Verse

How do we feel?
What a stupid question to ask
Is there a chance you’ve been living under a rock?

Like our breaks have just failed
and the steering wheel won’t turn
The walls lining the racetrack are coming up fast

If feelings were numbers
the numbers are frightened
42 for alarm
33 for unease
A crowd of 11 are cheering the chaos
They brought popcorn and bad beer
to watch the cars crash

The harsh grind of metal
and the breaking of glass
are a sweet lullaby
to the pricks in the stands

How do we feel?
Like we’re trapped in the wreckage
The engine’s engulfed in Halloween flames
Now our faces are bleeding
And our organs puréed
Are leg bones supposed to jut out at such a sharp angle?

No pit crew has rushed forward
So we guess we’ll just die here
If the smoke doesn’t kill us
The fire will soon

The mad crowd keeps cheering
as the world fades around us
The last words that we choke out
Are get bent, you daft fucks

(Year Zero/Day One Hundred and Sixty One)