my scrambled and dysfunctional paragraphical thoughts once again:

so we sit outside drinking high life outside the pigs place, waiting on the band to play. almost 21 what can I say, but
I got a few more days to go.

and you know its like a waist land when you can't see the sunshine under all those alcoholic shadows, what a way to live.

Feeling like a lost dog on a pole in a winter snow
w  a  i  t  i  n  g ______outside the bar,
                           I've seen Wayne Coyne with fur and heels on arm,
and I'm //almost uneven in a toxic drink // but my cig  a r e t t e **burns ash
out on the oklahoma street.
        we can make it home on of Montreal beat.  

oh so mischevious as a fox in dark leaves of green and Desire.
asleep on a coach under sheets of mystery and kitten fur.
with crusty toothpaste and ****** gums cleaning off what was
to , always
judged as a minor  star in a music bar
                 we are all here,                and now,                   and wild.

Come,
as an untamed dessert lover with a tipped cup of emotion in caffeen steam.
                 oh wonderful traveler with polar bear ice cream .
                                 "look at all these people cages!"
                                        boxes of broken penniless dreams.
"that's a cool tree house though,  and that oh yeah another condemened house for you to live in"                            HA                                ­                       HAH ahh ha ha....

SO, sometimes I feel like a circus clown at the rail of room 39
                           like I've always thought with sound, and needing to finish work,
            take my medicine as I should
                get directions from trickster's with inhumane sorcery,           could you tell
                                                            ­                                                             them I did well?

realizing its all a wave that crashes us like a tidled surf.
                                                                ­ I want like dear old foes a place to be a fool and take it all slowly.
             What was once said to be real
                          is long bled
                           as a heart
                upon the sleeve turns blue.