Juiced for contrast; too much, too much: coughing, delirium, fever & vomitus. Melange of moulage, cadaver practice – worser ways to be, set against my ragged self.
It's a wretched existence in the Tomorrowland universe. Regret, longing for glory days, self-denial. It's all a pity party and we're here on the edge watching in, feasting on the marrow.
Worlds traded with two of the nicest people in the world. They happen to be in the same band. Edited only for consistency of style.