Friday, 18 January 2008

• pretty dumb, but..

  The Microwave Did It
  
  Sleeps of sores fighting
  under cover
  everyone of us is
  brazenly alone
  I'd love to stop
  who I am
  douse the fields smother the fire
  uproot those god damn snakes
  and walk home with my hands in my
  pockets, whistling all the time
  
  there's an ocelot in my bathtub
  a hand gun in my shoebox
  and paint chips in my bread
  let's get this party started
  by morning we'll be dead

  • 3:35 PM
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