Balkanized

I’m standing on the platform And there’s a pile of trash bags Swollen with former objects of desire Stripped of office, like corrupted priests In black plastic vestments And cast out to vagrancy So now they wait with me Twitching with the palsy Of the rats in their guts That shriek as the train approaches To take me home There’s a negative copy of me In a bus station on a dusty plain A thousand miles away And one day we’ll meet Swept up by different flags We’ll lock eyes through gunsights And I wonder which one of us Will die beneath the other’s knives And I hope it will be him It’s not personal But I’ll rip your throat out if I have to I’ll tear your guts out if I’m asked to You’ll rip my throat out if you have to You’ll tear my guts out if you’re asked to It’s nothing personal Because we’re both the same Lemmings rushing away from a mirror And towards a cliff