Tic talk lunatic, walking creepy and scary. Romantic click unlock with no knocking, too sleepy to carry
The shovel.
This shovel.
The shovel is very heavy like a rock, makes it harder to bury realistic-tic in time, outrunning the clock. And to talk so simplistic is stunning; we left in shock.
Come write outright, you're right.
Come right out, write your right.
Come write outright your right. For some succumb without rite read out to right from being outright far from the right to play being dumb. So it's mumble along, or remain under thumb. We both know to be humble is wrong, when you're numb.
Come right out, write you're right.
Stumbling, shout insight; incite doubt, crumbling. In slight drought, the sun found dead the unfounded site gets ahead. I am astounded by the blood being shed, when it sounded like the flood all along was simply dread.
Everything is all inside your head.
But that was wrong, I limply said. But you were strong. I see instead that I belong back in my bed, to track a song I wrote in red before it's dead. And there I bled. While I said,