| should I treasure the red
|
| or treasure the light
|
| the bitter juniper is still food
|
| pull down your pants by the shi’ites
|
| tire my tounge over your gums
|
| oh, honey bee
|
| buzz upon me
|
| slip me a note
|
| oh god, what a donkey
|
| it smells like fallujah
|
| a hammock rod
|
| this shirt clings like dander
|
| this kiss scrapes like rust
|
| tiny, tiny paws covered in the dirt
|
| tiny purring sounds rising like a pike
|
| stabbing my hand like a sailor
|
| this last night of ours’s pathetic
|
| tiny, tiny paw turning into dust
|
| tiny shining eye, rolling like a die
|
| casting my fate to the gristmill
|
| this last night of ours
|
| finally i’m surprised
|
| oh, tuck away those acient jugs of yours
|
| reaquainted with the brush of a skinflake
|
| cooped up between a jerk and a hard place
|
| you sight your eye off the tip of your gun
|
| tiny, tiny paws covered in the dirt
|
| tiny purring sounds rising like a pike
|
| stabbing my hands like a savior
|
| this last night of ours forever
|
| tiny, tiny paw tunring into dust
|
| tiny shining eye, rolling like a die
|
| casting my faith to the wayside
|
| this last night of ours
|
| finally i’m surprised |