In the years it took to write the Book of the Dead;
A song is a hot foot in the dark & in the
The queen's white American Snooch,
Jesus was a young man choosing to bring
home the gold in the form of poetry
While the child was still in the ancient Sun;
The Silver Age is the place for hard ******* &
There is a woman that he went about w/
through the names of the six dead & bloodshed
& strife & the hell with him;     sea ​​&
       Apparel was great & both Parties
   of the goddess of the LAPD thinks he lost his
fear of hair; entranced by the Deep Blue Moon
Fire,       the child making known his true skin;
Unknown for calling for,   better to be drunk young;
Standard roads Sky's the most ***** dreaming, deep
open towards the middle of the poet drinking
of the Golden,  writing the form of evil in their
belly walking in front of the hands of the lakes
In Greece; Kids from three to consumer age,
Guy the cat & the new 400 wild red-yellow base
of strength of the nature of Aquarius small
Gay Medusa of the hole as far as it was Brown;
bulimic from both modern mirrors' Secrets
w/   a lot of talk of the stripper's blond hair,
her fingers playing the field for dancing so that *****
shall fall down from reading the story w/ six voices,
feelings of music;      the    prophet foretells Christ's
Home invisible area of ​​origin;            angels kissing
the dog's eyes; Silver stood by the club,        at least
the standard of ability, a little bit ****,       the smell
of the bed, the cold of the sufficiently small;
waiting for the machine strippers & their daughters,
a married woman, her ******* those of a rich man;
You can hear her husband starting the robot's
color of the pigment of the written language;
cops turn bad,          the new angel sitting on my face
Since I was born,   I'm the one who fell from the tree;
Miners of the wind on a cloudy day on Wall Street
  & the  White French pedicured toes of the enemy;
In the hand of God is denial of those who came out
to welcome the sister of his own;     the companion
of fools suffers harm to her socks & fat ankles
that is the sound of God who loved to drink
on the top of the Metropolitan Museum where they
are alive, liking to see the color that is not
well known, however, the sand is related
to the designers regard as the Dream of alchemy,
Einstein has on the apron; the fruit of another drink
much loved

[Muses pregnant with sand allow
people wearing nothing to enter
the [Planck Institute of Alchemy;
                 it's a dream to watch]].