Tried ta nap, nap ain't hap'n'n.
There's a dead seal on the beach
'n I'm feelin' lonely.
Maybe if I drink enough
It can be my mermaid =(
Her hair sparks jealousy among the autumn leaves as tourists and locals a like avert their gaze from the deciduous blaze. Displays of orange and red dance happenstance on the breeze in a last ditch effort to reclaim the fame, however, Murielle's beauty is so profound that they dance too hard and fall to the ground. One by one, they let go of both life and limb as they float down around her angelic figure creating a spectacle so magnificent the gods and demons all writhe with envy. And as she stood there, bathed in beauty, vibrantly violating all the laws of nature, the god who guarded that particular forest appeared just to say, "My oh my, what a wonderful day."
There's ghosts up in the gears 'n sprockets
hosts of locusts fear the prophets
preachin' reachin' for the sky
on the morrow we may die
I pray to trees n bumble bees
on my kneeses **** a jesus
his death was probably in vain
just wash that **** away with rain
Two dreams today bout the end of the world.
Apocalyptic and cryptic, like Hell had unfurled.
The first was more normal, yet veiled in dread.
Emptied out houses; no sign of the dead.
Something wicked most certainly this way did come.
Some plague or disease from which we could not run.
Dream number one allowed me to prepare
For the horror of the second, but what I found there...
Cronenberg ******, agony, bliss,
So juxtaposed like a rose in some ****.
Mutated creatures, ****** red eyes,
Things you've not seen but by nature despise.
You'd freeze in your skin just from hearing their cries,
Then all of the hope that's inside of you dies.
But I found a car... drove to place,
Woke up with sticky **** all on my face
May your day upon awakening be better than the prior;
Even better than that sweater on your flesh fresh out the dryer =)
Twas the night before Christmas
Not unlike the rest
Just sitting here thinking
Quite lost and depressed.
Of color and bliss
Resound all around me
But something's amiss.
Perhaps the bright light
That was burning inside
Has collapsed on itself
And silently died.
Perhaps now instead
Of a heart or a soul
I've only a sinister
Gaping black hole.
If you live on a dung hill you livin on dung. Despite you might fight for the very top rung, the whole ****** ladder is lathered in dung. But from the top rung rotten corpses are hung. Strung out and rung out, some of em even hum, 'Dng-d-dung Dng-d-dnnnn dmmm-dmmm dun-d-dun dung.' They hummin n bummin n slummin til dawn n when the sun rise they'll hum a new song. How can anyone hung from a rung be so humble? Like flies on some dung or the bees who just bumble along to their song n keep on bumblin on to forget that live on a mountain of ****... O ****, is this it? This is it.. I'ma quit... Life's just a pile of dung and some rungs that go row after row to the end of the show where some corpes who hungrily hum.... huh? Oh no!