Dysphoria Follow

Santa makes Giger’s tattoo
Give it to me now
If I could ever see your life
And I lay my burden so slow
Easy for me, heavy-duty, so called, for you
Too heavy to carry for you
So you wait for an Atlas to slaughter your tiredness
And hand over the weight
So you’ll be able to simplify
Slowly I come for careful rescue of your life
You can fuck off, but the outer shell shall betray you
The salvation you may look for in the highest society
Shall automatically rank you among the lowest forms
But wait…
Holy shit, Santa, look at your hand!
It’s Giger’s tattoo!
Everything I’ve told you here
Has gone through your right ear
And has left your head tangibly
And gone to flame
Try saying again about the delay
You have only yourself to blame
Visual beauty is what you chose instead of moral fame
Appearance unequal to your internal state
Shall guarantee your fall as human symbol of happiness