005: They never forget to knock

Rewrite history, tear down the pages,
erase the blood with spit,
order matchsticks in a cell block box unwittingly,
for grandfather clocks ask no questions.
How many grins do you spot in the mirror,
when your lysergide's bled dry?
Order another drink,
assert you'd make a better god.
Immaculate, a human game on rice paper,
still high on habitual flogging of the hound,
tar of love bubbling below.
Never a shovel around when holes spring like mushrooms;
you'd waste the kiss of life on soundless medicine.
See, the dawn creeps in, go fetch a lighter.