Combine Obssession, Symbolic Logic and the Occult Underground, and this is probably what you get.

My Door

by Trevor Daze, Mathematician and Bodybag

The forgotten ship on the shore of Lake Heron
Takes no more cargo, at request of the Baron
So the roads are still open if you’re feeling darin’,
And don’t mind the man with the glaive.

The apartment is musty, keys lost and forgotten.
The bacon is rancid, the lettuce gone rotten.
All you’ve got left is some beer to get sottin’,
Just watch for the man with the glaive.

Fourteen men sit,
Fourteen men cry.
Turn your back on the one with the glass eye.

If you can’t sit down with your daughter or wife,
And your shoes want to kick you ’till you’re lacking life,
Then call up the Air Force and ask Barney Fife,
Since you’re safe from the man from the glaive.

Don’t drop the ball when the coat needs repair,
Or you might end up dizzy and gasping for air.
And the only thing left is to shave off your hair
So to sneak by the man with the glaive.

The last thing to do,
Before your farewell,
Is look in the mirror. Try to ignore the smell.

There’s one more round trip that we all supervise,
When we visit the zoo through the elephant’s eyes,
Because inside the gift shop is not the surprise;
Only the man with the glaive.

Everyone wants it; does anyone do it?
If you love it so much then you’d better eschew it.
Or sleep under moonlight with only… ah, screw it.
Say hi to the man with the glaive.

Did you remember?
Did you forget?
Better grab the towel — bicycle sweat.

Before you go dancing and lose all your cash,
Please donate to Santa so he doesn’t crash.
You’re a jerk with the firemen, despite your panache.
And so is the man with the glaive.

The most I remember, before I was seen,
Was a lot of blue numbers with glue in between.
There’s only one answer, since I’m no machine:
I was born from the man with the glaive.

Don’t say you’re sorry.
It’s better this way.
Too many salmon are shrinking today.

The last thing you need that I can provide
Is the “I Love Mom” Tattoo on your right side.
So my hat just came off. Thus begins our strange ride.
Do not fear the man with the glaive.

Now if you can follow my stanza’s slow curve,
Then you know the big grape and you have the nerve;
The world that we make is the world we deserve.
And there’s always one man with a glaive.

-Fin