This is a song about "Cincinnat"

Secret service insurgents observe me nervously

You in your after life fitting in hell perfectly

Dial up words but they're not in service

You spend days in your room to look perfect on the surface,

Bastard, hap hazardous track master, put a beat on and words become lavishly crass daggers/

Service the discursive lurkers in the furthest mergers of a scary circus,