lies and fixes

And now we come
With blood on our knuckles
And semen in our hair,
As minstrels
And murderers,
With teeth that won’t fit our mouths
And torsos that won’t belly our guilt,
We are hapless gritty friends,
And voyeuristic strangers,
Bludgeoned by dollars we never had
And children we never knew,
We are strewn across countryside and city alike,
With an idea of what we’d prefer,
But without a lifetime to comprehend it,
We are loveless, afflicted,
Romancing our degradation with lies
And fixes,
A shimmering dissatisfaction
Revealing a pale hope,
And then in a wall of sound
Or a cowardly chord
We look for the power-up
But just as often ride the numb-out.