I had a little monkey I sent him to the country and I fed him on ginger bread



Along came a choo-choo, knoked 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 be forever







'make you, break you, make you, break you, lookout'



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