My Monkey

I had a little monkey I sent him to the country and I fed him on ginger bread Along came a choo-choo, knoked my monkey coo-coo, and now my monkey's dead At least he looks that way, but then again don't we all? What I make is what I am I can't be forever "make you, break you, make you, break you, lookout" We are our own wicked gods, with little g's and big dicks sadistic and constantly inflicting a slow demise the primate's scream of consonance is a reflection of his own mind's dissonance