So I guess I'm saying it seems,
That no, it's not by my dreams,
that from my reading of the scenes--
You've still got feelings for me

And I know how you'll say say say
It's only a crush of May,
And that surely we must delay--
Wait for your permanent gay

But I'm sure you must know know know
That the wind will never not blow
That it will shake you to and fro
And will never let you go

Yes, you could wait for Tomorrow
And try so hard to swallow
The feels you feel, my Great Sorrow,
But one day you'll have to go

And follow the gales where they blow
Into the caverns below
And shine the light you dare not show,
And from that you'll surely grow.

I just hope it won't be alone.

My Art... HAH! A joke--
But not one worth telling.
Bad in the burly existentialist sense
Unlike the golden Grandpa goads.

No. A joke that waves
Comedy--Tragedy--Obscurity.
In the gutters it would not be so.
In the gutters I may be alone.

In the gutters the fat of the lamb will hear my heart
And then, in the gutters, it--I--we-- shall find our home
For, you see, us three, we be
Friendly ******* of Filth and Froth,

The Filthy Fat from which loathing Bubbles.
Yes. Only in the gutters to mine own--all selves-- be true.
For you, yes you, and the fair few, you vessels, you
Of objection and projection. Yes, for you.

I say "come what may"
To the river, Me,
For I cannot stay,
Yet, can never leave

You ask, "pain or joy?"
I say "let it be"
For words will annoy--
And cloud what you see

Instead, I say "play"
Strive only for glee
But if it's at bay
I say, "let it be"

How I love your style
With your turn, your smile,
Your silly "sieg heil!",
Your sickness and bile.

Allow me to be
The thing you dream,
The constrictor of glee,
The reason for T.R.E.A.M.

Together we can,
We may, go away--
So swiftly we ran
Up along the bay

The others they yell
"No way, come and stay"
But swiftly you fell--
My hand led the way

And can you believe,
The horrible glee
With which his lips licked.
Dreaming-- carcass picked,

Reveling wholly.
Dismissing Holy
Enlightened beings,
Sinking in Needing.

Black black smack, alack!
I'm a crack-gack hack!
Or, mayhaps, I'm not?
Or, perhaps, just caught,

In nauseous verde waves
Of fanciful raves--
Rants all entertained--
I say makes me drained.

Baudelaire's half-baked,
Chatterton-- cracked
Morally, sorely
Standing half-poorly

But standing up still,
Avoiding the thrill
Of desert mirage,
It's poison barrage!