we do things, we say things and so we breathe,
we love things- far away things, and so we bleed-

some blue things, some red ones, and some come with ink,
some done in dusk, some burn to dusk, some are green-

some new ones, and the old ones, and some with the sheen,
turned into a few guns, two bullets- one cold sun,
and one with a dream.

and I do things, i f*ckin' say things, and so i greed,

i brew in ink and then i glue my sins, i sew the smoke rings- and then I grieve;

i confuse things- in a few drinks, and the smoke will be freed

so, I can feed- forever, going 'round in circles.  whatsoever for, sleep ?