My body consists of seventy percent water,
thirty percent useless testerone.
The water has me split right down the middle
thirty-five percent holy water
thirty-five percent human falter
I try and weigh it out on my oversized teater-totter
the war wages on, battles between dusk or dawn
I feel corrupt, or omnipotent
simplistic, or sophistic
but I know Ill always be omnivorous.
My water is dispersing, the holy added to moly
and then god told me, either fly to St.Peters gate
Or get ready for that Debocle of hate
I must choose my fate,
Which percentile grows bigger is a question for the end,
All we really know is that theres water that can manipulate us from beginning to end.