The sun leaves,
A shadow spills.
Shallow fields buzz and
My thoughts are deep.
Fried my brain like devils.
Who's the chicken now,
Make your riches bow
Who's fooling who.
It's not the sentiment it's the predicate,
Predictable or scripted
Deprived of life and
Gifted.
Sep 26, 2014
Sep 26, 2014 at 9:45 PM UTC
The sun leaves,
A shadow spills.
Shallow fields buzz and
My thoughts are deep.
Fried my brain like devils.
Who's the chicken now,
Make your riches bow
Who's fooling who.
It's not the sentiment it's the predicate,
Predictable or scripted
Deprived of life and
Gifted.
