A brick layer sickness
Fashioned out of false care
You will cry like a little girl
For about a handful of latex and phallus
The fashionistas of pretense and dirty
have hidden all your stretch marks.
All the gods sure smile dead and lovely
With a salvation of cosmetics and smut.
I like the way you cross yr fingers
Right before you open your mouth
Close your lips around this disease
And swallow your redemption
