Ode to the broken world

The world is a busted radiator, leaking rust on the linoleum. Politicians piss in the soup and call it progress.

I sit in this rat hole room the disgusting smell of yesterday’s cigarette butts, watching the news, same old assholes in better suits.

Wars bloom like cheap whores; kids die for oil and ego.

The sky’s a dirty rag.

Factories cough black phlegm, and the preacher on TV wants my last ten bucks for a ticket to a heaven he believes is already foreclosed.

Love’s a drunken fuck in the back of a Buick.

It ends with vomit and silence, and you wake up alone, wondering why you even bothered.

But hey, the track’s waiting for you, a longshot horse with busted legs, and sometimes it almost wins.