| Bear paws and rascal power
|
| Watching us in your garage
|
| Big girl you ate the neighbor
|
| The nova is over
|
| Wake up and play
|
| Balleradio
|
| Make room for clara’s bare feet
|
| The love of a martian
|
| Tick tock and waiting for the meteor
|
| This clock is opening another door
|
| Lots of love just keep it comin'
|
| Making something out of nothin'
|
| These are the best that I I don’t know how to say
|
| Losin’what I love today
|
| These are the best that I Lots of love just keep it comin'
|
| Making something out of nothin'
|
| These are the best that I I don’t know what to say
|
| Look at what I lost today
|
| And these are the things that I Blood flowers in the kitchen
|
| Signing off and winding down
|
| This martain ends her mission
|
| The nova is over
|
| She caught the ball
|
| By the mission bell
|
| Chase lizards bark at donkeys
|
| The love of a martian
|
| Let’s bow our heads
|
| And let the trumpets blow
|
| Our girl is gone
|
| God bless her little soul
|
| (She's got sword in case
|
| Tho this is not her lord incase
|
| The one who can’t afford to face
|
| Her image is restored to grace.
|
| Disappeared.
|
| No trace.
|
| Musky tears.
|
| Suitcase.
|
| The down turn brave
|
| Little burncub bearcareless turnip snare
|
| Rampages pitch color pages…
|
| Down and out but not in Vegas.
|
| Disembarks and disengages.
|
| No loft.
|
| Sweet pink canary cages plummet pop dewskin fortitude
|
| For the sniffing black noses that snort and allude
|
| To dangling trinkets that mimic the dirt cough go drink its.
|
| It’s for you.
|
| Blue battered naval town slip kisses delivered by duck
|
| Muscles and bottlenosed grifters arrive in time to catch the late show.
|
| It’s a beehive barrel race.
|
| A shehive stare and chase wasted feature who tried and failed to reach her.
|
| Embossed beneath a box in the closet that’s lost.
|
| The kind that you find when you mind your own mysteries.
|
| Shiv sister to the quickness before it blisters into the newmorning milk
|
| blanket.
|
| Your ilk is funny to the turnstyle touch bunny who’s bouquet set a course for
|
| bloom without decay.
|
| Get you broom and sweep the echoes of yesternights fallen freckles… away…) |