I wish my hands were rockets
So I could see the show
Watching them blast off, whe'er they go

I don't really want them anymore
So to them I wave adieu
Well, I would if I had hands...
Instead I flop arms
Like a seal waiting for a meal at your local circus

I pitch tents
And people sometimes visit (read: never)
but a few have wanted to see the show
And see me bark
They probly honk the horn better than I

In the end of the day I pray for a sickness to leave my body
And to not struggle anymore
But I don't think that's really the point
I think it's a story about rising above...
I'm still at the ocean floor, though
And there's a long way up

but away from the dreary, let's focus on cheery
As I carve pumpkins in the shape of silence
There's nothing in April for the stuff in October
So I fold over a game of poker
For another month or two
Pour me a drink, Scottie!
A fifth of ***, and a shot o' her
Wondering eyes cut ties to those morals we hold most dear
None of you are mine, and I have little right to peer over as I do
But oh, do I
Wondering eyes are best plucked out by Ravens
Like that's so Edgar Allen Poe
Half Black females can squander careers... or blame
it on the *****... or disney channel
Spring Break, *******