Clinching and clutching, then speaking with wisdom
With sheets made of clay, and waxen tousled hair
Like black wires, and the wires of *** and saltation
The vines of wine and salvation, and boundaries for those shaping their hearts
In desperation and shipping off solid favors, in the name of schemes
In the preparation fo better futures, I think we should part ways
I do now know that we never met, but, we held future in eyes
Behold these windows to an empty household, look at cafe and bistros
Beignets, cakes, parades, and raining pretention with the hard times falling like crime rates
The gangster flicks coming up in the age of mafia bosses that live and die by the *** and violence