Your old friend,
Your old friend,
Goes like this:
Hate hate hate hate me. Hate hate hate hate hate this. Hats hats hats hats hats dance. Some some some some some time. Some some some some some fools. Want want want want want want you. Dead.
Hit the beat, the vertebrae like me out of my learning center. Is it beating still? No one knows, man, it’s cool just repeat after me: AEIOU AEIOU AEIOU…
Little thing, you’re the chance I’d like to take on the floor. You’re the time I sprained my ankle. Multiplicity in history. Some war. Not too bad. It’s just the scars that quake my atomic bomb. Sputtering. Well it’s got to go somewhere.
Dislocation of somnambulating memorization schemes. Weather’s still fine. Not dropping bombs on Paris. Not dropping bombs on New York. Not even going there in the summer, when I’m younger than now.
Hit off, right at the turn of the century. Well, lovers # n. F, can’t go. Somewhere around here… found it! Lit the match, hit up the gin, lost luck and got the fuckoutta there. Maybe next time, slick…
Send me off. I’m on vacation already. You go ahead and do that! You’re so cool for me. Maybe the neighbors can vouch for our legal divorce in advance. Like a bank account that thinks I’m healthy sometimes. Well, it’s got to be found sooner or later. No nonsense about this cash flow, just settlement toward the concrete slab where I found a dime when I was two. I could walk all over graves and when I learned to dance it got even better.
No guessing games when you sound so loud. You know. That’s the acoustic chamber of our lifetime. Inspiration strikes the ground twice when you’ve skunked out of school and hit up and caught your favorite band’s show at least a few times. It happens. Not everyone’s a winner. Go hope.