Me, while we was small,
good things didnt follow me home.
I would pelt me with the me I brought
I was just
I scream out the moment
A ready curse, my name, falls to ashes
I pose as blood on the pavement
though burn below
I cry thoughts behind me as i go;
O progeny of mind, my voice did ring
I dont need Philly,
ive got the voices
Sometimes its the other way around
I do not follow the patterns,
the patterns follow me,
the destined dripping hole
Shit pants during angelic abduction,
curb the Lust,
achieve induction
An inauspicious mess of secret agreements
for the sale of salvation;
theyre not sorry the electricity is never off
or the sky too pink
or the fucking empty
…ask for porn for christmas,
you just may get it
Santa manouevres those channels too
and doesnt give a fuck about you
Lust is a form of suffering
As a result we keep running into shelves and displays of it