NO MORE DIARIES, EVERYTHING IS ASSUMED AS FICTION...or maybe, hugely possibly. AND, the sky holds too many feathers these days like Im gonna pluck a heavy star tracing over spilt tar horizons, for the land of tomorrow holds no dreams besides whats going on inside the tube sponsored by your favorite comedians brand of foot gel that some grind-house golden macho boy slides upon his shiny stick of spurting muscle joy...
AND NO ONE HAS IT MADE...the artist comes clean and so he no longer dreams...he pokes about his spleen felt-like heavy marble...sees the sunrise, while he thinks he sees Jesus and all love comes pouring out with inspirational words like some mad explosive diarrhea case drilled out of oil hole, spraying out the words that only tend to crucify anyone that doesnt feel the same...
THIS IS THE HEAVY HEAP OF WASTELAND that you created because you want to feel. You want to FEEL something, FEEL someone, FEEL yourself. But, you never feel...
Microsoft touch-screen--makeover land becomes glamour touch bitch all ready to fuck...THERE AINT NOTHING POSITIVE ABOUT REALITY, that s why you gots to grab it and claim it as your own or go about feeling loose with no fuck in mind...
And so, its no wonder that so many writers and thinkers grow crazy these days...there aint nobody to share nothing with anymore, just TV minds and IM shit-talk and less and less toilet paper because the assholes becoming more and more brittle as time passes by...
Degenerate nation, god-spoiled in nationalistic flag waving corporate casted seminars...let me give you robot talk while I explain good family ethics and gather up smiles from the wasteland and will soon give you the prize of winning fish!
Dont worry about your lover/partners swing-tease, for everyones learned to fuck themselves over a lot these days. The worlds flopped like moon cheese over the horizon that spells out in big blue lights "GET IT HERE CHEAPER...NO DISTANCE, NO DRIVE: GIVE US YOUR WALLETS, WE PROMISE TO TAKE NO JOB THE NEXT DAY!"
Walmart deflated minds of the pilgrim walker...spinning crazy in curves of bowling strike-out: WE NEED NO MINDS, WE WIN EVERY TIME! GO DRILL OIL AND FIGHT AND GET KILLED...ALL PROFITS GO TO RICH MAN! WILL SHARE WHEN THE TIME IS RIGHT! GO AMERICA GO!
AND NO ONE HAS IT MADE...the artist comes clean and so he no longer dreams...he pokes about his spleen felt-like heavy marble...sees the sunrise, while he thinks he sees Jesus and all love comes pouring out with inspirational words like some mad explosive diarrhea case drilled out of oil hole, spraying out the words that only tend to crucify anyone that doesnt feel the same...
THIS IS THE HEAVY HEAP OF WASTELAND that you created because you want to feel. You want to FEEL something, FEEL someone, FEEL yourself. But, you never feel...
Microsoft touch-screen--makeover land becomes glamour touch bitch all ready to fuck...THERE AINT NOTHING POSITIVE ABOUT REALITY, that s why you gots to grab it and claim it as your own or go about feeling loose with no fuck in mind...
And so, its no wonder that so many writers and thinkers grow crazy these days...there aint nobody to share nothing with anymore, just TV minds and IM shit-talk and less and less toilet paper because the assholes becoming more and more brittle as time passes by...
Degenerate nation, god-spoiled in nationalistic flag waving corporate casted seminars...let me give you robot talk while I explain good family ethics and gather up smiles from the wasteland and will soon give you the prize of winning fish!
Dont worry about your lover/partners swing-tease, for everyones learned to fuck themselves over a lot these days. The worlds flopped like moon cheese over the horizon that spells out in big blue lights "GET IT HERE CHEAPER...NO DISTANCE, NO DRIVE: GIVE US YOUR WALLETS, WE PROMISE TO TAKE NO JOB THE NEXT DAY!"
Walmart deflated minds of the pilgrim walker...spinning crazy in curves of bowling strike-out: WE NEED NO MINDS, WE WIN EVERY TIME! GO DRILL OIL AND FIGHT AND GET KILLED...ALL PROFITS GO TO RICH MAN! WILL SHARE WHEN THE TIME IS RIGHT! GO AMERICA GO!