| Sure pal… I'll sell you your scalp back
|
| For every something to draw with you ever owned and… nahh
|
| Uncle, give me a blackened lung and clavicle…
|
| Or I could wriggle my zero non emphatical…
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| Strap you to a mountain side and hurl redwoods at your rotten hide
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| Under here while boughs, bird’s nests and tree limbs fly…
|
| You simply… drip down the rock face… pureed head case…
|
| Close as teensy-weensy crumbs of a whole
|
| Fall upon the forest’s plush green canopy…
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| I, forgive me… like rain… happy now… no brain… err
|
| And wrongful treatments what I’ll preserve you in… mummification.
|
| The uncouth barbarian takes it in the… huhuhuh…
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| It’s what he deserves. |
| under glass fine grain crushed herb…
|
| Reckon I could make a mint charging a healthy cover for a glimpse
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| Of your freakish clump of quadriplegic gusto…
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| Something done swung low… but your going home in a crucible… jerk
|
| Call it a meltdown… it's really good clean smart…
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| Soul and body of john brown sings in me…
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| No… you start…
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| No… i insist… you start… as you were…
|
| Watch… far end of the cantilever’s sparkling thermometer burst… sparkling…
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| Thin air folds the crumpled to stationary… huh…
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| And unsuspecting solid blocks of refuse to rock
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| Apparently pour with apologetic and «can I please go see the nurse?»
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| Right before my eyes…"I don’t feel so good…"
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| Whimper snivel bounces off bell tower stone for lastly gongs and chimes
|
| In what’s clockwork… sullen hunchback
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| Pressure rings out to trail blood on lobes… abandonment's all about your…
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| Impregnable and hit the lights yaknowwhatI’msayin' jive turkey
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| Hunting season’s open… so I hum «We Are the World»
|
| Polishing a 12-gauge conversion ratio… pausing
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| Now and again to practice you foul calls and set the sight
|
| Dinner’s waiting… get a move on
|
| My time you won’t not be extremely careful with that ink pen… or
|
| Bust stuffing waltzes in smug… extending a metaphor
|
| As I hang this inexpensively framed license to practice taxidermy on the wall
|
| you… tear…"he's certified…" for real…
|
| No crocodile… no tough shell… dull blades, less formaldehyde
|
| To finish 'er up… some grooming here, a glass eye there…
|
| Needle thread… whooahla! |
| nothing’s prolonged… you make the room
|
| Subtly off-setting the bearskin rug and lusciously upholstered ottoman…
|
| Hardcore… far from… treasure of the trove
|
| Boy… you'd better snuggle up in a passive voice… or…
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| Carry on and leave me no choice…"who's the vaporizer?"
|
| It’s the boy in me that binds a worldly gutted man’s angst to change
|
| Celebratory delta paints shit-eating grins
|
| On what you and mirrors think my face looks like…
|
| Visuals expecting this alone despite
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| A nothing dissimilar has prepared its most stable student
|
| With number 2 pencils and a sick sense of humor. |
| prude lent
|
| Me a whopping six years of fun in the sun… i see it all… you blink…
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| To be blinded and amused, cheering, clapping, palms vermilion…
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| To raw-soar…never feeling a note…
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| I could cry for you all but empathy… wept smudges what’s wrote
|
| To lock, stock and barrel surroundings with quotes
|
| Coffee through corners of loose leaf… my later on
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| Environmental processing unit. |
| and you say cheese
|
| In a torrid three-piece tunic…
|
| So I can bank their drift and fill a page to it…
|
| Golly, I’ll lead 'em all second hand virgins out of the grain shortage
|
| With a no longer lit roach and thimble full of prestigious… or
|
| I may find your devoted half-mast and shift thick skin to brash
|
| And show you sad’s six-hundredth and something shade…
|
| Swearing solemnly you’ll see no parts of unscathed…
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| Do though, consider this frame of mmm. |
| molestation
|
| More than a suspect identity roast…
|
| Since it’s really your last hippity hiphoppin' hope
|
| And open gets no wider as I provide for your cope…
|
| With twice the substance and conversely quadruple the texturizer
|
| Who’s the… prey tell… who's the vaporizer? |