Of all my stone digressions Some have mutated into the trees Not a spoof You are the pole expression of all your parents laws which you parsed There's
At the centre Where they go on weekdays It takes hours Just to slake that thirst Heavy heels And a daunting post rate Bad idea for your Blistered toes
You come on like gangbusters laying it thick Arboreal sleat stacks(?) lost in the sticks It's warm for a witch trial Don't you agree? Cold are the hands
Hopscotch Willie Swore he was framed He was a mark not a killer So he declaimed It was a classic example of a fall guy Facts all point to a skinny white
ruts one is just a tunnel the other is funnel to the tune easy said but less often done point me in the direction of your real emotional trash abstract
There's no common goal there's no moral action there's no modern age from which to run away There's no grace in love with a known projection there's
Shot through, with new, and now, The thrill of loving someone that you shouldn't love, But it's moving at the pace of the clouds. So pull your little
Wicked, wicked Wanda What was it that spawned ya? Who?s responsible for your trash? A pretty little spider With Hollywood inside her And no time to accommodate
I kinda like the way you dot your J's with giant circles of naivety the kind of circles include everything don't mean to damn you with the faintest praise
I came to call your dare And look you up on all you Claim to want to share Claim to want to share Don?t get into The throng in your head Cause this is