When linked we let our eyelids fall and pilots stall
Let 'em shake a little, then release 'em, Like, as if ghostly hysterics would leech on band aid completion. Bantamweight temper tantrum, decrepit anthem, set a low goal, I arrive late.
- See the root of the mute button was dug up bug up on a song
- Desire on the opposite circuit and glorious days
- Fraggle rock your four figure watch
- Let the back burner boiling point descend
Billy-goat beard twenty years in the making, carried lures in his brim, carried beer in his waders, stinked like alcohol of all prominent flavors, carried knives in his vest, carried war in his nature. Sat among the forest floor critters and pine cones, could tie a perfect fly with his eyes closed, veteran angler with a mission to run, make all naysayers hold t-t-t-tongues.
Outside the most ridiculous poison tongue brain silo
Busting accidental dirt bike donuts, outside the most ridiculous poison tongue brain silo, dead before the chubby debutante conquered the high note, schooled by the cruel intention inventions pensive sideshow. We cadets hold determination as property undeniably divine; we leak passion for the noise. There is not a track to cherish from he who lacks merit. Let me put you up on Bob's donuts, controller of the warm deep fryer that charms cobras. Picture if you will a witching hour on a week night in the trenches, where paranoia dead-ends in a bright florescent heaven with sprinkles, I know right, yum! My first name is a random set of numbers and letters, and other alphanumerics that changes hourly forever, my last name, a thousand vowels fading down a sinkhole to a susurrus, couldn't just be John Doe or Bingo.
Close encounters of the first kind, contact cursed minds skies red. Stuck sitting spinning world wide webs, over whim and worry flurried on your sidesteps. Today I pulled three ghost crabs out of rock and sand, where the low tide showcased a promised land.
Sling blanks sprayed it with apathy magic balance
I used to have a rope ladder but tattered were the rungs, I strung it from the highest willow, trying to hug the sun. Ok, I lay me down to sleep, creepin' a slumber under red skies, heads splittin', straight sippin' a drip of dead vibes. It's red tides from here, stop and smell analog hell, clenchin' a stench of burnin' logics and a child with yearning optics.