Selling Flowers At the Cardboard Intersection

HIM I didn't ask to be born neither did you. And of all the shoes I've worn you've walked very few. My first job was to gather eggs I was four then. The welts on my legs were for bringin' in less was expected. Five, eight, twelve eighteen came uninspected beatings delivered by unintrospective role model. Family values passed down through saloons and brothels and Sunday School dress-up to drown screams of innocence no voice to tell them with. THEM Little boy, this don't make sense. Suck it up, embrace myth eology please. It will ease you and us who've worked very hard protestantly ethicking virtue. Son, we can quote bard. You weren't blessed by our god might you want work to make enough to live and perhaps breed? Well, alright then the non-negotiable answer tough as it seems to liberal scumbags is this deal: Sign up your visceral instincts to kill. HIM So I did