Let the back burner boiling point descend
This is a never dug disco, Zoo York tycoon, memorandum bonanza banter clamp crunk out the fish bowl. Pays quicken upon asphalt light source sun burst beams, a portrait of pillage, multiple put-downs paint burn marks on perception.
- Now taciturn facets burn open to yield malarkey navigator
- Ease back; let a heart thump echo normalcy for 10
- Desire on the opposite circuit and glorious days
- Ebonics lurking where the crop circles got stamped out from the rain dance
- Axis pivotal point spun all to often
- Fraggle rock your four figure watch
I'm quadruple six plus scruples category mayhem stems, so one overlooked the scene including loopholes.
Where the wild strawberry vines toss and turn
Grief leaf thief briefly turned chieftan, the tapwater's on, the water's off, the water's leaking. I forever wallow in glitches, grimly distributed by side effects, consumed, cocooned in antisocial trenches, drenched. Soul crafted fat cats, burrowin', left perennial tenants discouraged in. Discussing my four-season flourishing.
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. 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. I used to have a rope ladder but tattered were the rungs, I strung it from the highest willow, trying to hug the sun. Ease back; let a heart thump echo normalcy for 10, let the back burner boiling point descend, I race the derby in the first heat (strike personal) Strike personal space with the most utterly putrid version of grace.
Now what of the madness fragments? Stagnant
Please hold for the don't-play dull boy, click: I am not a page or a pull toy. Came in the door and the floor is lava, killjoy if your core more Norman Rockwell. 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. 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.