the minds divide, the past repeats.

I had a little monkey
I sent him to the country and I fed him on gingerbread
Along came a choo-choo, knocked 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 live forever

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