alas, here come the hypochondriacs to wait with you in the lobby - locust lyrics

drained blood from your own spine in a trophy.
dead skin cells drip charity crumbs.
biting the hand that feeds,
deemed an unhealthy meal.
when slipping on someone else’s elbow grease,
gurgling devices loose their appet-te.
mirages seem to commission blame,
while pointing the finger cracks the mirror.