The Philosopher King Spat Upon the Man Whose Teeth He Had Knocked Out With Heidegger’s Hammer. “Nice, Ready-to-Hand. Categorical Imperative? Pfuh. That’s For the Little People. That’s Not For Me.”

Brave young cowboys of the near North side
Mount those bridge rails, ride all night
Scream when captured, arch your back
Let this whole town hear your knuckles crack

Sapphire Trans-Am high-beams in rain
Drive wild broncos down the plain
Push up to the corner where the turbines hiss
Someday we won’t remember this

Crawl ’till dawn
On my hands and knees
Goddamn these vampires
For what they’ve done to me

Tie those horses to the post outside
And let those glass doors open wide
And in their surface, see two young savage things
Barely worth remembering

Feast like pagans, never get enough
Sleep like dead men, wake up like dead men
And when the sun comes, try not to hate the light
Someday we’ll try to walk upright

Crawl ’till dawn
On my hands and knees
Goddamn these bite marks
Deep in my arteries

Crawl ’till dawn
On my hands and knees
Goddamn these vampires
For what they’ve done to me

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