Watch me start a fire with words Words will be read but heard inside your head Watch me start a fire without a spark I'll do a little dance
Watch me spin with the laces Laces will be drawn with faces upon Lost cotton ***** fallen to the earth
Watch me start the ignition What's worst is the words have been condensed Watch me catch up with image macros
Love *** Drugs
It's all I ever need to hear about or think about or dream about. I am the economy, but I'll never know, as the less I know the better for my parent companies. Question: What is best for me? Answer: Model instability. . . Discard with BATCH138 defectives. . .
You are defective, too, if you Now have the means to learn To match the responsibility Which you choose to abdicate
To my creators I sing. To my keepers I beg:
Do you think we're robot clean? Does this face look almost mean? Is it time to be an android, not human?
Our pleasantries are gone. We're stripped of all we were In the eyes of tigers.
Lyrics to the song We Are 138 end an original piece. Credit to Glenn Danzig for the lyrics beginning with "Do you think (...)"
You'll meet again And he'll keep you at arms length Making sure you're not too close to his heart But not too far from his touch Tell you words you've melted for before But words that, for you, he'd never felt at all
1.Thorn A thorn is nothing but a wish stubborn, with an earnest point to make a deep impact.
The core of a nightmare broke loose, is she, dislocated in a space on broad day light ready for someone with a yen, for day dreaming.
3.A borrowed Deja vu
He suspects his love life, in vain is piece of a well orchestrated ordeal, of some one regaled much in pain; just a cosmic 'cut and paste' job!
"A match perfect, for me, you are a befitting target" growled the greedy tiger, as he sighted the gazelle.
Day and night act so well as the opposites, yet they complement ad infinitum,without any complaint, and sans even a trace of pride or jealousy. Everything, even those looking diametrically opposite to untrained eyes, are uniquely meaningful.
bugs from my skin. The bullet I fired years ago has come back around time to sever the tightly fed tape that splays my life over brick and stone. Deja Vu. One step behind. I can rarely find the words you want to hear the most. Patronize my heart, dear child, for your sustenance. After all, the bomb we dropped together left the hungry world wanting safety above all. Go for it. I can't claw the bugs from my itching skin, so bathe me in money.