O! Wont you take me to the naked city?
I would very much like to see
cars and trucks and an occasional tree
a rich a mediocre a poor bathed in pee
and why is this the majority of what i see?
M-O-N-E-Y
turn off the lights. step away from the wall. spin around three times. try to find the wall.
Sandy beaches royal blue skies yellow sand of hair hot dogs smell of puke flash of cameras thump thump of bass brass knuckles gold teeth tattooed faces guns smell of rotting flesh decapitated (or nearly) with a kitchen knife superficialities the seven deadly sins run rampant in the streets ripping the moral out of everything in its path as if it were wet paper seedy bars drugs ignored by the consciously naive stuck in dream land of flashing lights fast cars and movie stars all I can see are reflections of dead neon lights and broken bottles of dreams sleeping in the corner with your grey blanket begging for change the smell reminds me of apple pie on a window sill burnt and broken out dead burnt hair and booze america is the dead museum now.
its just a cry for attention isnt it?
mmmph
quite.
like.... cess? like a cesspool?
AAAAA like reduced shakespeare... "and the cesspools... they were full of cess! ...yes!
so there appears to be a holly plant growing just outside my chambre which i have never before seen...it's the kind without berries. or at least it doesn't have berries yet. it's pretty small.This cold winter night is not one for being alone.
i shall take your spleen. than i'll have two
and live longer than you
burn the truth.... burn the truth.... burn the truth
AH! a flying rock. call a geologist. The lie is love.
Oh Lord mlady!
--
Mr. Cow Head, and Mrs. Teapot-face have quite a lovely family. They frequently enjoy corned beef. Various friends from the 19th century stop by while they enjoy the wind quintets of Gyorgy Ligeti (brought back from the future of course, they are very forward thinking creatures.) A miniature ketchup bottle from the Hay Adams Hotel in Washington D.C. decorates their mantle. A healthy fire is crackling, and they sit cuddled upon the couch, sipping tea and eating beef.
--
John - hey baby what say you me ditch that loser and what start up some sweet little thing real peachy you dig out off the interstate cars fast man it'll be easy street all the way to the bank cozy shack till we knock on old cold stoney's door a sweet little tent
Sally - Oh it sounds sooo dreammy
John - yeah baby you dig you dig?
fin
I would very much like to see
cars and trucks and an occasional tree
a rich a mediocre a poor bathed in pee
and why is this the majority of what i see?
M-O-N-E-Y
turn off the lights. step away from the wall. spin around three times. try to find the wall.
Sandy beaches royal blue skies yellow sand of hair hot dogs smell of puke flash of cameras thump thump of bass brass knuckles gold teeth tattooed faces guns smell of rotting flesh decapitated (or nearly) with a kitchen knife superficialities the seven deadly sins run rampant in the streets ripping the moral out of everything in its path as if it were wet paper seedy bars drugs ignored by the consciously naive stuck in dream land of flashing lights fast cars and movie stars all I can see are reflections of dead neon lights and broken bottles of dreams sleeping in the corner with your grey blanket begging for change the smell reminds me of apple pie on a window sill burnt and broken out dead burnt hair and booze america is the dead museum now.
its just a cry for attention isnt it?
mmmph
quite.
like.... cess? like a cesspool?
AAAAA like reduced shakespeare... "and the cesspools... they were full of cess! ...yes!
so there appears to be a holly plant growing just outside my chambre which i have never before seen...it's the kind without berries. or at least it doesn't have berries yet. it's pretty small.This cold winter night is not one for being alone.
i shall take your spleen. than i'll have two
and live longer than you
burn the truth.... burn the truth.... burn the truth
AH! a flying rock. call a geologist. The lie is love.
Oh Lord mlady!
--
Mr. Cow Head, and Mrs. Teapot-face have quite a lovely family. They frequently enjoy corned beef. Various friends from the 19th century stop by while they enjoy the wind quintets of Gyorgy Ligeti (brought back from the future of course, they are very forward thinking creatures.) A miniature ketchup bottle from the Hay Adams Hotel in Washington D.C. decorates their mantle. A healthy fire is crackling, and they sit cuddled upon the couch, sipping tea and eating beef.
--
John - hey baby what say you me ditch that loser and what start up some sweet little thing real peachy you dig out off the interstate cars fast man it'll be easy street all the way to the bank cozy shack till we knock on old cold stoney's door a sweet little tent
Sally - Oh it sounds sooo dreammy
John - yeah baby you dig you dig?
fin
