Mi Mi Mi Mi La La La~
Fate tastes of such tangy brine.
Teeth like razors,
destroyed image metric sine.
Blood is a fine—
dripping severed crust,
becoming cultural dust.

Fed to haunted sheep.
Beauty frothing.
Denial, inane.
Now we pay their endless game,
all within the same.

We're not so bad.
Right—
You did good,
supposedly.
Now get out of my sight.

What's the price?
Fifty? Sixty?
Sold.
Supposedly.
Buying in.
It works to start—
a while, perhaps.
Contemporary charts
will keep your skin.

What, again? Forever, again.
Expecting gifts?
What a grift.
Dip into your Crypto.
Speak longer,
"how it is."