Friday, October 17, 2014
The saddest song not a song after all, a night fall memories crawl back in Autumn, sometimes they drop to ink so much I wanted to accomplish before I die in my sleep
The saddest song not a song after all, a night fall memories crawl back in Autumn, sometimes they drop to ink so much I wanted to accomplish before I die in my sleep, and creep with me, I can make you famous, right? Is it real, who knows, but it’s a cute ass face and a tight ass night, so just go, go, go west and fuck up your life Blasting Kanye, best leave the big things to better minds and find an instinctive abyss, relax A mind for a time, where’s the internet tax? And drooping are the times, that stake death on words that overlook the callous, the malice, the fucking 99 luft ballooned palace, there is no Alice, make your own fucking bed, after all it’s a wonder where you sleep in the end, bend but don’t break, the rules, your rules, break the rulers, for heavens sake, and write, put down the TV, a remote isn’t glamorous, manufacture these stories that you find so amorous.
Thanks for the shows, demon’s and demo’s, corner and a beat box, a guitar in DC - freestyle is free and admitting one, a basketball son, including all, read, flex, barf and brawl before you crawl before breath eyes alight frozen hail Mary darts our plight pinning memories in our whiskers killing time shot glassing our bitters creates winners no trophies subconscious let carry and glory marry my ignorance to the pen and that’s all I need to make this song cry and this keyboard bled Gordon taught me greed in all its forms so I task this flask to remove this mask of normalcy which is slowly wearing thin a devilish grin knots my gut so much I wanted to accomplish before I had enough
The saddest song not a song after all, a night fall memories crawl back in Autumn, sometimes they drop to ink so much I wanted to accomplish before I die in my sleep,
Focus, present, presenting the president in the presence of now essence glows eternal that transcendental shine a pond in Concord that’s all fucking mine he went to the woods to find at the end if he ever really lived so stamp on me present a long scar on the arm of a hand that gives and fuck dawg stay active, be lively and love cuz that’s what’s attractive and maybe it’s words and sense is unaware but I opened my closet 4 my soul 2 bare dishonest will wear too much a trunk on a back to bear wear me these works cloaks to hide daggers meant to clown the absurd of factions who believe and follow like hyenas the curtains and droves that succeed totally dude get the fuck out of my face with that shit my brood intends to stay rude when righting a course we never would choose a son of liberty camp of wise young old fools