a routine that is getting old
when will my shell break from this mold
perhaps ill wear something bright and bold

perhaps my actions will come back to haunt
proving that i was the one who was wrong

maybe i should turn back…
maybe i should sing a song

sitting here, oh so clear,
the message and the path are near—
the work still to be done, will it take very long?

i walk on as i sing my song
the one you taught me in a dream
where we broke apart from the seams
from who we were- into the people
we were meant to be, you and me,

now it's just me, fending for myself
we grow without guidance,

no one knows the right or wrong way
and it scares me that ive lingered around

home and comfort,

maybe i shouldnt stay
maybe i should just-

get out of my own way

Happy roses on the parade, he was waiting for the 2 years to arrive
The album cover love the lover's wilting love in on Jesus' daughter in a tree, lovely sails it had
They fell when the autumn had arrived, **** your darling buds
Pygmies digging holes in the soil in their hearts of toil, falling prudently
Like leaves, the red justice, gold *****, in a curlicue of extra circulars

Touch on the washed-up Gurudeva, fixing holes in the faucets, the sunshine shines on our bad news, save us the supernatural darkness
The superstition of the Siamese cat, and the weeping lady
The flow is getting better, make love could we ever escape dark days and escape the midnight shines like good fillers on hydrogen delight, stars in the stare looking for the assets to darkness
Moonchild roses remembering the supermarket in America, that changed them, those who were pleased with the peaches incarnate in the cries of the last radio of the gold heads, buses of the sunflower tin cans
That cried an Eli book of poems, show me in the radiant illuminating blue eyes

I am walrus, I can make these songs okay touch tough but it was right to be alright
Ending a letter to Lennon on the twelfth night, the wrong from my lenience
My liege, my childhood here hath Earth omnipotent in areolar sprayed aerosol cans, we long these round holes and surmise of free prose in the inner moon
Light up the sadness

Album cover acrid as the midnight spoon, feeling sentimental
Tumescent buildings, my cheer, without imagination
You don't deserve possessions, you shot down dead weight
Carry the shine, in the confines of a painless razor of lacrosse, Billy shears brushing your head
I'm shaving my head, with the crowd in an instantaneous hung jury in the situation in the dalliance with the forgotten underwear, ******* my collegiate thumb
I want to write my own stuff with natural ecstasy and alliance of the hung jury in the psychotherapy, and the ******* ministerial preacher, saying please please me

You said you were
Struggling with the bugs, Pam
In your head, and hung bedbugs in your childish core, of faith as a person who loves the sibilant sounds
When I laugh as my head comes out of the plastic nation
Freed and staring into the distance, Ono here in the ballad hearin' sound laughter

Lead your path
To thine light ad thine veritas
There is thy will in every bright thought in
We thought up a bed, filled hat across the new man

We are not scared among the ranged beats, were dreaming style
Derailed from the tabula rasa, and waterfalls and lose our happiness in the morning
And search for the under in our childish souls

Hanging out in rainbows in cyclones  swirling like idiot winds
And they call me dumb, a bad person in studied simplicity
Simplicity is the kind of loving, giving the kindness of taking it gently
Failure is simply the opportunity to begin again, this time more searchingly

Already finding the end of life's meaning in the puddles of love
Find yourself in mother nature, and you can apply yourself, my friend my water, my shapeshifting friend and left the flower
And leave someone's shadow as we grow fond of the light, we start wondering if the starry skies in patched blackberries

honey...you're as stable as....

a cube of ice on a bridge of salt
a water balloon on a bed of nails
a painter's hand during an earthquake
an OCD patient in a room full of crooked paintings
(is there anything wrong if they're all crooked)??
a brick of potassium in the presence of air
a ****** coming off their last hit
the stock market in 15 years

honey...you're not stable...but i can be a support.

Let me go

It hurts

To be in your rose bush

The thorns

Are drawing blood into my throat

And it bubbles out of my mouth

But I can't see it

Because your beautiful roses

Are blinding me

my mind is trying to find a reason
why this may be happening
but it keeps searching
and it keeps coming up empty

there is no explanation
or logical reason
there is no solution
to this problem

you said so many beautiful words
and they’re saying
none of them meant anything to you
but how could i believe them
when i know your eternal soul?
why would you say those things
and not mean them?

"I am trying to hold on. Even to the silliest and littlest of things. Even if it’s temporary. But there isn’t anything in my reach. Just grasping darkness. Nothingness. I am trying to tell you, my cry for help is soft almost as a breeze. Through little hints, please try to see. But it is going by un-noticed. There is no one to save me. Nothing to hold. I am slipping. I feel myself letting go. There is no tug from the heart that attachments were once etched to. I feel myself letting go of the thin life line I hold. Letting my life go as the tears that leave my eye and the crimson blood that spills from my skin. I slip, as I slip into sleep.”