been at the end of my rope
for what feels like infinity,
Orange and red roses growing beneath my feet though

minutes eat the days up,
it's ok because my days **** anyway.
pity is paid to the same mud
all mystery came writhing up out of.
anyways,
what the Gehenna was I getting at?
oh yea,
the revenge-**** of the century:
me swinging like a tarnished gold pendulum
from the Ash tree I planted a few years back.