The Nerve Tattoo

It's just an itch beneath the skin I can't get it out or seal it in I can't dislodge the need to scratch it Screaming from it's root It's an echo inside my head A need to say what can't be said It's the nerve tattoo, such a bad rash Spiteful and divine But that's OK It doesn't matter anyway It's still those with the least to say That will be heard Ah, the eloquence of trash The persuasiveness of cash Rings true like the whispered lies Of half-forgotten lullabies Designed to please Designed to soothe Designed to shift a million units or two Designed to mean nothing at all for anyone But that's OK It doesn't matter anyway It's still those with the least to say That will be heard It's no misunderstanding It's all emptiness and words I'd cut my veins to paint it as Beautifully meaningless Picturesque and absurd It's a masterpiece I heard