Analysis of To The Crowd

Aesthetic too pathetic,
 Selectric antiseptic.
 No vest, this sweetly scarred chest,
 A test, eternal unrest.
 The burned place on my fierce face,
 Bitter taste, no time to waste,
 Bitter taste, no time to waste,
 Make haste, win this wretched race.
 Restrained by panicking pain,
 I slain, slicing the vined vein.
 My fate handed on this plate,
 This weight each second I break,
 This weight each second I break,
 Wide awake, I drive the stake.
 As I mask my putrid past,
 Too fast, my journey won't last.
 So instead I confront dread,
 I am dead, drowning my head,
 I am dead, drowning my head,
 Fed illusions in this bed.
 I crash, the mirror I smash,
 In a flash, myself I bash.
 I'm raped by the red wine grape,
 My fate, just this lonely state,
 My fate, just this lonely state,
 My mistake, falling for fake.
 Hear my words, embrace the verbs,
 We are herds of squawking birds.
 No God now saves me somehow,
 To the crowd I scream aloud,
 To the crowd I scream aloud,
 Too proud, I will never bow.