Sing Song

there was a song in his voice, a distant realm of insanity clawing at the wet walls of his broken throat.  This voice persisted outward, and broke down the boundaries on the way down the slope, nothing could stop the snowballing upward sickness that penetrated the unholy limp masses who were spoon fed rat poison in grains of sugar, and then the sounds piercing calamity will unravel their wrapped bodies, spinning them out of control and into oblivion, the mass destruction of their order of themselves, while the truly inspired lovers of life sang out.  The voice will go on, and on, until the end of the darkest realm of idiocracy, but no one can say for sure when this'll all be over.  Go your own way children, scream your heart out, and find your speaking part, the role of your lifetime and hit with everything within you.  God speed outcasts.