It’s the sugar on your tongue.
It’s the ignorance at your side that encourages
The cane to slither off that flavorful muscle.
I don’t remember how it tastes. I obtain no desire to.
What happened old chap?
You used to own the world with that sickle.
Does it hurt?
That prioritized thumb
Pinning your will with darts.
Wriggling your way into false self-explanations
As to never admit defeat. But old pal, you know it’s true.
You've hit the bulls eye,
You've met your match.
Walk the tracks.
Feb 8, 2012
Feb 8, 2012 at 1:18 PM UTC
It’s the sugar on your tongue.
It’s the ignorance at your side that encourages
The cane to slither off that flavorful muscle.
I don’t remember how it tastes. I obtain no desire to.
What happened old chap?
You used to own the world with that sickle.
Does it hurt?
That prioritized thumb
Pinning your will with darts.
Wriggling your way into false self-explanations
As to never admit defeat. But old pal, you know it’s true.
You've hit the bulls eye,
You've met your match.
Walk the tracks.
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