The bare ****** twit-lay,
The amalgam-fed panic,
The tertiary under your bed.
The colors stained wholesome,
The moot-bares non-sharing,
The fake-jawed that leads to your red.
You closet them purely.
You love them with Soma.
That help-sleep that staves off the dread.
But,
Time restarts upon waking,
And age-speed does quicken,
As that ring falls
from your finger
like lead.
Sep 1, 2010
Sep 1, 2010 at 10:30 PM UTC
The bare ****** twit-lay,
The amalgam-fed panic,
The tertiary under your bed.
The colors stained wholesome,
The moot-bares non-sharing,
The fake-jawed that leads to your red.
You closet them purely.
You love them with Soma.
That help-sleep that staves off the dread.
But,
Time restarts upon waking,
And age-speed does quicken,
As that ring falls
from your finger
like lead.
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