Posterity Chant

Procreated by a dilettante
product of squandered sperm
drawn from a female test-tube
I, degenerated, overgrown germ
whose atoms split simultaneously
to his internecine shouts in mime
of distort faced up facts
laid down without reason or rhyme

I grope my way through tinned fantasies
of lusts of the flesh
my instant brain will not keep
as I prepare for the fatal clash
which comes spontaneously
at my highest form of prime
as challenger of deadly fate
I'm laid down without reason of crime

Don't ignore my void
I don't ignore your corner oxygen masks...