Sit back, relax, these cravings make this couch feel like rehab
out of reach of my stash, feel like I'm crashin' but I already crashed
been here since work an' I can't feel my feet, crap!
Sit up, and remember everything that you tried to keep from thinkin' of
your account, the amount, dropping like doves
in these times of war, no heroes just ******, nerdin' out on the game of life
trying step it up on the score boards, tryin' ta live like lords in this world
that has no law, why not be an outlaw, tough cuffed, straight jaw
dealin' out pain like a war god, Kratos, dime bags is small tomatos
when you could push yayo, one call to my man and I could get a crateful.
****** if I ain't a salesman, slanging nuns chewy doobies on the side, call me satan
and I'm the king of this world, it's hell, try escapin', I could have it
in the palm a' my hand if I made a move but then I gotta choose, play my luck
trust my ******* gut to keep from getting cut, like it's my only homie but he only knows
me cause I was pushing dro with the stonies.
I don't want a knife in my back, a run in with the feds or getting popped by the caps
tryin' ta dodge traps laid by cats that is jealous of my stacks,
I want a paradise where we all make racks, blast our music, blaze it fat, and all rap
sleep with both eyes closed, no need to watch our back,
too bad we were born in a world ruled by cash,
ain't never gonna have a globe like that...

we are connected, like two gummy candies fused
or like a warm tongue stuck to a cold piece of ice

i feel like i'm stuck to you
like when a magician traps you inside your own mind
or when you're handcuffed to yourself

but instead of you being me
you're you
glorious you

   o     o
--|----|--
/ \  / \

Some swoon for emerald green
Others melt for icy blue
Stormy grey and midnight black or maybe amber hue
Blended colour of different fleck

In truth, these tones are beauty
Yet none tempt me like another
It is brown, that draws me in
Colour tears through me; comforting and promising.

Traps me in a stupor
The colour of mahogany woods
Deep, dark and enticing
Luring my body into nirvana

Mysterious and evil
Eyes of eagle leaving me blind
Spreading rampant, this fire you elicit
Clouding my mind, invading my thoughts

Colour deep within
Hints of pain and vulnerabilities
No longer can I pretend
It is you from the beginning

Stones of your eyes, they rope me in
Colour of earth-kissed by rain
The hue of life that wrecks my being
Though I try, lacking it seems
It is brown, with wicked glint
Every shade of brown you could imagine
Glowing with warmth, reflecting mischief
Sending me shivers, pulling me in.

There is a demon behind you

I would never tell you a lie

He’ll tear your heart from your body

If you look him in the eye

He’s a hungry and quiet killer

And tonight he feels great joy

He doesn’t get to eat that many

Attractive girls and boys

You summoned him up by reading these words

I’m sorry I waited to say

This demon and I work hard ever still

To live off of a writer’s pay

I lay the traps and he gets to eat

And in return I receive

Thirty pieces of silver,

And a wardrobe you wouldn’t believe

If I hedge thus a drooling wager and cash in
on my thrice-foiled cravings for her overdue bites
(plus a guilt-free laugh at his expense), I can
use minced steps to sidle around too-lively
trunks, and avoid the need to heed thugs
barking mad from within their crevice-laid traps.

How those bug-eyed brutes'll clamor and claw at me
to discard this protective wrap, clued in by my rep
of never bending willfully to anybody
but her. "Come on, shed! Get, uh, new set of scales,
for you we will — promise!" is how she'd stammer,
roughly translating their not-so-twee chatter,

if she were there. Rather, in that lavishly apt way
she has, she'll be away picking suitable pelts
to adorn her newly uncovered, quite public shame
while fending off an advancing clod, who won't go
easily, but who does go on ad nauseam with
a penchant for naming every God-**** thing

that haps vitally across his cocky path. Beyond
a simple relish of mischief, I'm doing this (mostly)
for her benefit. How could a persimmon
be forbidden, as if he had permission to make
such bargains? He's dismissed it as an ungainly fruit,
and mocked its likelihood to "lava thy lips"

with an orange pulp, but in that chance smattering lies
the matter to inflame my soul. I'll feed her
the pudding-fresh flesh, and strip it down
to its delectably small seeds. In their splitting
I'll glean the silvery utensils to spill
a man's wholly worthless future. Let's tuck in.

Killer boy, crawling through life like a caterpillar, yeah I work hard but get under appreciated like a water boy. Cute & Dangerous like a panda, waving my native pride like it was a banner. I'm not interested in slutty broads; yeah I don't waste my time on those frauds. Never been to London, but I am stunting, roasting haters in my oven. Girls be looking at me with panda eyes, but I am wise for not replying, because all though good in the moment, I know it will lead to my demise. Just let me versify and revamp the bounds of rap, yeah I'm about to cross the transversal line. I sometimes internalize my hate and fear, while critics are quick to crucify, it's fine because society has begun to blur. Let's prioritize our animal instincts, get what we want in an instance, who needs to care about logistics.

Hunter like tactics; we are so polarizing; praising meaningless merchandise; even if it's gimmicky and unappetizing. Just keep on pandering to propaganda, keep on working to help the great scandalized top banana.  Everything looking black and white, can we bounce back, and once again thrive in the sunlight? The inner blackness is ready to come out, the sinner that creeps in my dreams like Freddy, is there a way for me to get out? The white light of hope tries to stay strong, but how do I do that when it feels like I'm an anomaly that doesn't belong? Inner clash, inner turmoil, feels like I'm going to crash, is there time for us to unwind this coil? Deception is this addiction, struggling with affliction that sparks some friction. Sitting on the floor with a bottle of Gibson, only one more stop till I reach destruction. Sip after sip, as I start to drift, wondering if I am just a small blip, starting to question if life really is a gift.

Blackness keep on bearing down, just a canvas of blankness trying so hard not to breakdown. Searching for light to give me might, to give me motivation to continue on to fight. Just a panda; vicious but vulnerable; precious but endangered; wondering if my soul can be recoverable. How do I transition, how do I change my position, how can my intuition help me avoid this oppositional demolition? How do I carefully plan my mission, how do I clear my vision, how do I deal with this condition? Do I go to a hospital, do I dig deeper psychologically, do I become an apostle? Do I go to an intervention; do I take pills for suicidal prevention? Black & white, despite these attacks, I will bridge the gaps, and destroy the traps. Good meets bad, bad meets evil, forget the prequel; time to move on to your sequel.

we need security


after a horrific home invasion in which joan lost everything, joan decided that she needs

to install a very strong security alarm, to make sure, she and robert are safe, while the home invasion was on

robert was at a ten pin bowling tournament, and robert was annoying everyone saying where’s mum

where’s mum, where the hell is my mum, as robert won the high game trophy, and whilst he was there joan had to

sit out the home invasion, and when it was over she rang up the bowling people, to explain why shy isn’t there

and this forced robert to ask a heap of silly questions, like why did they rob us, what did they get, are we getting strong security

and that night, joan had a catering job, and robert was spending the whole day on the net looking at security systems

and driving joan completely bonkers, ya know, we must get a security system which has a loud signal, which could wake up the street

so other people will know, and call the police in to catch the culprit hands down, and robert also found a security alarm

which traps the intruder, and joan asked, robert, have you ever seen home improvement, ya know, we watched it a lot in the 90s

he put a security system in his home, and it woke up his neighbours the wrong way, but it tracked down an inside job from son, brad

and robert said, yeah, who was brad, anyway and joan liked the simple one, which alerts the police when an intruder is in the homer

and after a hectic day with robert looking at security systems, joan took robert with him, so she can drop robert off at dance class whilst

she works at a wealthy house on the corner of town, and when she arrived there, the man said, where have you been, we have been waiting half a ****** hour

and joan said, i had a terrible home invasion, and i had my son robert in my ear about getting the best security system, and i wanted simple security

and the mnan gave in on the fight saying, your poor, why would anyone rob you, and joan just went into the kitchen to start her job and a text on her phone

said that robert is being naughty, slapping the females on the ***, ya know annoying them and joan couldn’t leave, so she rang her lonely sister Alice to

drive over to the dance class to pick him up, and when alice got there, robert had settled down, so alice had to wait, till the end of the class and when it was over

alice was left with having to babysit robert because, joan worried about all the phone calls or texts that she gets, explaining robert is naughty, and when robert and alice got home

robert said, we must turn off the security first, and get in the house, and when he goes to bed, put the security alarm back on, alice and robert watched

parenthood and greys anatomy and after that was over, alice put robert to bed, but this was a hard case, it made robert hit alice, accidentally but robert hates the idea

of lashing out at authority and then joan finished her catering job and went home to see if robert had given alice a hard time, and when joan got home, alice said, robert

was lashing out at her, probably he didn’t want to go to bed or something and joan said to alice she could go, and went straight to bed and at 4.56 in the morning robert was

scared of the dark and wanted to hop in the same bed as his mother, and this drove joan completely nuts and the next morning, joan got robert ready for work with robert

constantly saying, i was good last night, alice was nice, can i have alice every night you work and joan said if your good, i will try to to get alice to look after you when i am working

and then robert gave joan a big kiss, and they got in the car to send robert to work

What comforts you
at 3 am on a Wednesday night
when the darkness traps you in your bed,
straps you down by your wrists and ankles,
whispers words of loneliness down your neck?

What comforts you
when you're out of options
and thoughts of forever consume your soul
burning and destroying every ounce of will you have left
until fizzling out leaving smoldering ashes in its wake?

What comforts you?
Is it a pet?
A song?
A person?
A dream?

He comforts me
at 3 am on a Wednesday night
when the darkness traps me in my bed
straps me down by my wrists and ankles
whispering words of loneliness down my neck.

He comforts me
when I'm out of options
and thoughts of forever consume my soul
burning and destroying every ounce of will I have left
until fizzling out leaving smoldering ashes in its wake.

He is there to comfort me
on the darkest nights
patiently rekindling the flame of hope
hidden in the darkest corners of my soul.
Providing light,
giving warmth,
pushing down walls,
all so he can comfort me.

The Masters of Illusion perform
Before your very eyes.
Their clever tricks will astound you--
Watch for each surprise.

Their skillful tactics mesmerize
And seem to entertain.
Caught off guard, you overlook
Their verbal legerdemain.

Artists in deception, they
Require a double take.
Upon scrutinizing them,
You see that they are fake.

They love to pull something out of a hat.
Notice as they grab it:
Hey! A corporate tax loophole!
That is NOT a rabbit!

When caught in their own traps they can
Mysteriously disappear
And suddenly show up again
When the coast is clear.

Cutting things in half occurs
Before the curtain call.
You hardly notice that they're robbing
Peter to pay Paul.

There's always something up their sleeve--
Sort of a bait and switch.
A promise might end up being
Tax cuts for the rich.

Be careful when they smile and say
They want to be your friend.
That's just a ploy; you'll see that
They'll ***** you in the end.

Once they pull out their deck of cards,
You see that they've embarked
On a new, crafty deceptive path.
(Their cards are usually marked.)

They never fail to beguile and amaze--
These Masters of Illusion.
Just know you're always being duped;
But that's a foregone conclusion.

- by Bob B

Land mines
The path I’ve chosen
Need to watch my steps
Or I’ll lose them.

I set them
Those traps
Intending to catch
Something other than myself.

But here I stumble
My fingers clutch thorns
My feet nailed to blades
Trying to reach
What I’ve told myself
That I should not have.

He’s not for me.
I know
I know
I know
He’s not for me.
And I want him.
But I never wanted him before
I planted the land mines
And the thorn trees.

True criticism
Whether constructed or impulses for the moment;
Taken or not, to be offended by it
Is to be aware of an interjected potency.

A toxin of a so-called realization to drive towards sin
Or perhaps self-actualization, to whom we are within

Mind differs from soul, on the division of what is human.
The thought conveyed is lacking in being, rather than seeing.

Applying logic as a constant is grounds for ill confidence.
In a quality that droughts in tears from a cyclic existence

The thoughtful thrive on selfless striving
to be heard, immortally by their reviving words

The self-centered gravitate to absent causes
assisting no one, and becoming less heard

But sincerely who is right to judge you and me
Bias surrounds us, traps us to filter what we see and believe

Faith is lost to a logical world, where action is questioned
And the metaphysical will soon be poisoned by what is known

There are lights
Not meant to succumb to blight
Of the true dissension of Adam’s apple bite

I plunge into the cold water on that warm July day
no goggles, only the loose-fitting swimming trunks
I swim through the blur of chlorine
pushing through the water
when a familiar tune I heard hours earlier traps itself in my brain
and I suddenly become weightless, a plane high above in the air

The water is pure blue sky, below me the clouds
And at the bottom the city in ruins
I take my plane and dive down below the clouds
past the blur, until the city is in view just below me

I level the bomber and let it soar low above the ground
Over the pale white shells of buildings
I remember the museum exhibit that inspires this flight

I walk through, studying the pictures and the uniforms and the weapons on display
when in the distance of the room beyond I hear the familiar tune:
Brian Eno's "Ascent (An Ending)". It brings me closer, and I move past the exhibits
at a quickening pace, past the slow browsers
glancing only briefly to read, to catch a glimpse of an object, a photo, a map

I keep going, "Ascent" on a loop, its minimalist beauty entrancing me
until I find a large television in a small corner.
A few people are gathered around, solemn,
the television entrancing them, the music washing over the room.

First the white words centered against the black screen: "The Bomb".
The come the white-and-black photos and footage of the mushroom clouds hovering above Hiroshima, then Nagasaki,
standing tall like ungainly trees in an empty field.

The soundtrack to the short video before me is "Ascent",
or rather an excerpt, a piece of it, stirring strange emotions
Familiar ones that I give attribution to when I listen to it on my own.
Yet it feels different coming from this;
on the screen a few photographs of corpses and burnt victims flash by.
And then the screen fades to black, a moment of silence
before it all starts again

I hear this loop and see these images before me as I fly above
the imagined city in ruins
And for a brief moment I am the Enola Gay;
I will only know it at the bottom of a hotel pool

I lost her to thin air  but found her in an elevator when we were both too drunk to take the stairs
And both out of enough of our funks to not care
As I was drunk and I needed lips and hers were there
Strawberry lip balm if I can remember correctly in a morning that was ever too foggy but tasted so clear
Berries above a neck of vanilla creme to the body with everything, everything, I mean everything
Back dimples centered around a birthmark, breats b cups but bursting, body skinny but jaw dropping
Beauty beautiful gorgeous all the same with public school hips only with practice can you tame
And broken hearts scabbing over a past life's scars are healing and we can feel it cuz its been months and nightmares ago but we've changed

Maturity or the quest to maintain proven false beliefs in purity in the form of trusting a ****** again while alone in my room
Dodging a half packed, half open suitcase and pairless socks in the dark..and who would of known feelings would spark so soon,
But call them feeling if you want to as both of us are looking like I'm on to you
Is this traps, trickery, or treason as we find old love spots and squeeze them cuz this may be a surprise but its not new
Looking into her eyes bring a cold shoulder in twos but then she is ******* and smiling....whispering I missed you...
And I missed her to...I missed her in the way pairless socks miss feet and shoes and even flip flops to....

I missed her after those nightmares replaced phone call lullabies and that feeling of her warmest hug by her hardest goodbye...
But now were laying together and why?
Did half finished bottles and condensation capped beers really do more then apologies and love notes in the longest texts we've ever seen
So easy to delete memories through screens but  not so easy when they stand before you or lay beneath your jeans
Not so easy when she finds a cursed diablo in her dreams in the form of a liar and his mistakes behind shades that I just wish didnt look so much like me
I can't tell if she'll remember the night we've seen with her eyes being so glossy and so out of focus and her every gaze so misty...
I just wish the title of wife didn't come under the muscles of a tounge so flawed before the women I'd rightfully title god
But were just drunk, and this is mistakes in the making,  hence why when I say do you still love me she can't say it  yet...only nod..

Will one ever — bake
and have too much cake
till their buds goes out of shake

Will one ever — watch
horror movies to much
till they no longer feel as afraid as they used to be

Will one ever — love
someone so dearly
they hold each other so closely
till one day they just
storm out the door furiously

Will one ever — hurt
their hearts too easily
they fall so quickly
in traps so clumsily

they get their hearts broken too much
by people who only loved them for a touch
so worthless they felt, they're now in parts
that they start on breaking other's hearts

i watch obsenity,
lascivious acts,
looking for normality,

the spoted back, the traps
are everiwhere, and
*** is inspiring, i aspire to
normality, an afective life

healing mi heart, and accept
the *******, of relations, and feel
normal, all live'd theyr lives,
mine was stolen, for some creep old *******,
just the need, of feeling normal, accept the pain

as a normal man, or trie to feel as one,
is the gold of watching *** on the phone net,
the search of normality, despice the eyes y adore
and the highnes of loving someone, up there,

and every once a year or so, there is this look
in front of me, loving me in secret, understanding,
silent and sweet, all the rest if stupidity, and wounds
of a child arrased for the creeps, and their need of posses
someone, they don't understand, or love, is just obsession.

even so, the spots in my back, are clean,
my sanity too, so sometimes watching ****,
is just looking for normality, and wash away the pain,
of carry the creep in my ears. still inside my ears,
talking to me, and never letting go.

as whympy woman, or a souless creep,
but never get to me, **** in the window,
remainds me, how creepy and stupid they are.

and me, i m feeling more normal every day,
my heart is operative, and ready to live, dispise
the creep. i am a free man, alive and clean,
my soul is good, my heart is pumping, and i am,
very normal and *****, indeed.

Brochures of tourist traps,

read aloud from the passenger seat, spoken in

ambivalence;

never closer to our

destination, but

only further away from

nowhere.

Well, walking into well set traps...
Convince us we're all fools,
Strip us of our cares and make
Us speak only when spoken to.

A victim on every street corner
Pandering for change, the same,
It'll be another dry penniless day,
A vague charade became a silly play,
In this play men and women are cut and dry,
Straight marriage-happily ever after-American pie.

It's always been the same, this silly little game,
And when it's over we'll just pick up the pieces,
Those idiots ruined everything for us, failures,
Before we're finished we'll blame them for it all,
The messed up elections, the crime on the streets,
It's all the libtards fault!

Or is it really? Ignorance is not to far from what makes
This world one where "winners" and "losers" take
Shots at each other, finding they were wronged again
And again and again!

Kind of like in a court room "social brawl" where
Two "feuding families" wont admit they are all at
Fault, all breeding war and pain and suffering in vain.

Is there nothing my love, to tame your ghost?
I've spent plenty of nights trying to re-wire my circuits.
For a bottle makes for a carousel of memories.
Faulty and distorted overtime.
For a picture traps a moment.
A smiling face to re-live a feeling.
Nothing ever sorts the holes left now.
Accepting the distance is harder as the distance itself grows.

A couple years have passed since I crumbled Us,
Ripping Me from You with no whisper of warning.
A second love grows as life's pendulum circles, and
Eerily familiar memories caution me from darting
Into the same traps that I ensnared you with slowly.

My nose smells the fear of repeating old mistakes.
In this similar space, but different place and time,
My hands recoil from how I soiled your fresh heart,  
And my tongue tastes the sour reality of my crime,
Finding you at fault in my final moment of failure.

I drowned in the truth of how deeply you loved me,
And, it should have been returned with my eyes'
Gaze a little less harsh when I splintered apart We.
And you never deserved to be flooded in the proof
Of how I was not the saint you painted and framed.

My dear, first Love, if you are reading this, I'm sorry.
*"For now, know that I love[d] you and wish you the best.
I'm not sure when the pendulum will stop or where it
Will land in the long term, [for] still I am apparently no
Closer to understanding any [more] about love [than you]."

Over the holidays, I was watching Lisa’s sister little Leeza, she’s 14.
She has a rebellious fashion sense and a joyful innocence.
She’s still fearless too, and on-God, I hope she never loses that.

Too soon though—the disco’s coming to town—the world’s coming for her. It’s the same for all of us, I suppose, but in Lisa and my cases, covid shut it all down.

It’s a rite of passage—the shoes, the bodycon dresses and the makeup. Those carry negative connotations, I get it, but there’s an excitement too, about finally getting to dress like an adult—a woman—in one of those bodycon, cut-out dresses.

I know the pressures on women and their bodies, but at her age, it's not all stress, cattiness and comparisons—it’s just innocent teen fun. She and her posse can take hours just dressing and doing their make-up—together. It’s probably the best part of their night.

Leeza’s dad (Michael) saw the little group of teens, all dolled-up and launched, like a SpaceX Starship. Pacing the living room, he quietly opined to Karen (her mom), “I don’t want her going out dressed like that.”

Karen was right there with him to cool things down, “No, ***, at her age, it’s about self-expression, learning and girl bonding—these connections are really important in the girl-world.”

I’m not worried about Leeza’s physical safety. These girls are watched over and gently curated. Their every movement is orchestrated and security escorted—hell, Hamas couldn’t get to them—much less some gropey boy.

There’s just this new awareness these days of how unhappy some people are—and a lot of them are teen girls. I wouldn’t want to see Leeza mired in the sad, brain-draining social media pressure and self-esteem traps.
Teenhood is scary—I was feelin’ positively parental.

Then I looked at Lisa, and I was reminded that they’ve done all this before, and she has a big-sister, role-model too.
.
.
Songs for this:
Good Time Girl (feat. Charlie Barker) by Sofi Tukker
Dance To This (feat. Ariana Grande) by Troye Sivan

Intelligent believers of democracy,
Let me inform you with a great surge of emotion that I am a candidate in this election
I beg you, request you, beseech you to make us win with great majority  by casting every vote of yours for our symbol

I don’t have to recount the great services rendered by our logo in houses, by-lanes, churches, temples, offices, hotels-  why, in buses, hospitals, monasteries, cemeteries, and every nook and corner of the land

About its great desire to fill even the stomachs of those little children who sleep along the roadside, with no one to look after them

Our sign cannot ignore the mothers and sisters who work in factories of sighs, with only half their stomachs full. That’s why even after being totally spent, it resurrects itself again and again.

Its social sense which decries that even those bodies  on hospital beds, half-burnt, should get justice.

Wont the dead have unquenched desires
Just like the living?

The greatness of our emblem and its universality which embraces unborn babies, the living and the dead, without any consideration of caste or creed or ***

About its reproducibility, the sense with which it can raise or lower itself as the opportunity demanded, its will power which helps it work with a passion, its power to please, its divine gift to give peace and happiness

What about its readiness to sacrifice even the last drop? It thinks only about giving! Please do not fall into the traps of the other signs which are never satisfied whatever it got, and which are ready to split any moment.

Let me ask  you, have we come first in anything? China is standing like its great wall..let me remind you that  if everyone tried together to raise our symbol to great heights, we can at least come first in population

Please do not let go of the chance to win, listing unpolitical arguments like headache, hunger, hatred etc

Our slogan
Contentment for everyone from children to old people

A land where milk flows

My pen has failed me
I sit with it and
Sheets of lined paper
Ready to be filled
But the words don't flow right
They're no longer adequate to express
This dull, aching hopelessness
Of knowing that I've lost my heart
Handed it away to someone
Who was much too careless
As words lined the already lined page
Bleeding hearts with barbed wire vines
Etched into the paper
During my wait for words
To pick their way out of my head
I listen to their sound as they tread
Through the minefield of my mind
Getting in traps that distort their meaning
Words like love becoming bleak
Because it got stuck in the trap
The trap that is you

ears forced against the down-stuffed pillow
muffle rhythmic sounds of sleep,

perceptible crackles 

that rumble from nasal passages

and invade his sleep

(should last night be an entry-

a sin of commission?)



yesterday desire grew 
inescapable
until two bodies 
pounded into exhaustion

on a mattress musty 
and worn
from other nights like this

bird chirps and lake chills 

filter through screen windows 

unabated.



few diaries document transgressions

in this new age of free love and prosperity
sins are common and plentiful.

later a litany of ****** diseases

would make headlines
now, love is free

secretly surrounded by traps

and quandaries soon to be discovered



he awaits her awakening 

in the still of bird songs and snoring

and wonders what she will remember

of the fascinations they held

for each other yesterday

You’re walking because you’ll be drinking,
But only a little whiskey,
Or so you’re thinking, to help you sleep.
Just one, just one, just one.
You remember the apartment from before,
The right set of stairs, the same exact door,
A coffee mug of cigarette butts on the porch.
Once more, once more, once more.

Somewhat like sinking you settle down,
Smile a little at everything
Because with your frown it’s a challenge.
Keep focus, keep focus, keep focus
On what’s on the walls, the ceiling above,
Which you know must be a labor of love,
A chronicle of coexistence.
One more, one more, one more.

And you don’t want to push me, you know
That I’m new here
But I’ll go with the flow, it’s just fun and games.
I’ve got you, I’ve got you, I’ve got you.
Drinks that I recognize and faces I can’t,
I was never looking for a hierophant,
But you’ve been so ******* pleasant.
I see you, I see you, I see you.

How many times have you passed out here?
How many voices live inside your ear?
How many walls do you have to clear?
Just a little more, little just a little more.

Well that’s one use for your school I.D. card,
I’ll bring you your clothes tomorrow,
Let down my guard, and just laugh about it.
No worries, no worries no worries.
Thank you, Lancelot, for handing me the Holy Grail
Someone finally taught me to ******* inhale,
Many tried, and many failed, but
Breathe easy, breathe easy, breathe.

You don’t get me, and the way you speak
Leaves me forgotten and confused,
My bitter medallions bleak, the chain around my neck
Gets heavier, heavier, heavier.
The lights of the airport through the January fog
Blur my mind like a chalkboard
And the floor’s got a soggy, sticky feeling.
And traps you forever and ever and

If your coronation’s based on an old fixation,
And only a little problem,
Then after this conversation you’ll go.
I promise, I promise, I promise
One more old friend, one more new,
And this will be the shot that drops you,
This is where you’ll forget.