This is a song about "Marlene"

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

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

Dial up words but they're not in service

You know better not to mess with my verses..

Writing line after line i never quit, finish the lyrics now its time to spit.

Now money is a service, but it's worthless, there's no purpose, shit,