Powdered Heaven, dressed in plastic, pulled the shades down on his eyes. Pinprick pupils soaring skywards. Offer him no alibis. But then, who needs them? He's quite perfect. Perfect body, perfect teeth that flash sublime and blind the kids who spread their legs for their belief. Who cross themselves at the drop of a parable; who shriek they're saved when they've touched his jeans; who swear his wisdom's just infallible and beg for mercy -- in his dreams. Another day. Another sermon. Broken bread, forgotten lines. A line for comfort keeps him human. The needle trembles, band on tight. Another little perforation ventilates him and paints him white. A wordless song, a prayer to no-one, helps him whistle through the night. They found him on his throne of porcelain. A rusty chain draped 'round his neck. Incapable and incoherent. His eyes switched off but a king no less! The jury all wore black chewed razors. Witnesses looked D.O.A. O.D'd, amoral, senses skewered. Dribbling lies and tooth decay. They declared his guilt. Defense said nothing, sobbing as the judge turned blue. Washed their hands, said "Lord forgive us, for we know not what we do..."

Drown. In your Soma Baths. I said drown. In your Soma Baths. What are we gonna do with you? (We have the technology! We have the instruments!)