while reading rolling stone...
...the sparks fly from cheap tobacco rolled out of habit...nerve endings tense like the news, boy...neighbor to neighbor selling gossip trained by professional talk trained by the tongues that tick on having to speak in lion campaigns...competitive chalk cough drained finger on remote control pulsing heart...the earth owes you energy, man...there are no exchanges...interruptions...the folgers' type crystal blend...weather man channels through satellite...destroying the sky...making hot red boils of the california wind...he is smoking whether, man, you flick the station to disco...the static flash is all strobe light--effect, disinfect, the sensors running low like mtv sold on big reality show talk...no rhythm, man...where's the joy, folk? and commerical two spreads on how a man should smell...i got fed on a lot of bad breath that killed the mood...the cereal talk of milky lips...she spread boob covers on the next commericial...bras in all shapes and sizes and colors of the wind...and right now was then and i was listening to the kings of leon where girls are cheap and love's divine but the long hair's grown too short, cheap for the sweet faces that are never blind to the melodies whistled in the wind...next flip to clothing ads...my band's sold its sound to style...the gap, man...the gap!?! mitch mitchell is dead...way past the trends, man, he rests on page 30.
...the sparks fly from cheap tobacco rolled out of habit...nerve endings tense like the news, boy...neighbor to neighbor selling gossip trained by professional talk trained by the tongues that tick on having to speak in lion campaigns...competitive chalk cough drained finger on remote control pulsing heart...the earth owes you energy, man...there are no exchanges...interruptions...the folgers' type crystal blend...weather man channels through satellite...destroying the sky...making hot red boils of the california wind...he is smoking whether, man, you flick the station to disco...the static flash is all strobe light--effect, disinfect, the sensors running low like mtv sold on big reality show talk...no rhythm, man...where's the joy, folk? and commerical two spreads on how a man should smell...i got fed on a lot of bad breath that killed the mood...the cereal talk of milky lips...she spread boob covers on the next commericial...bras in all shapes and sizes and colors of the wind...and right now was then and i was listening to the kings of leon where girls are cheap and love's divine but the long hair's grown too short, cheap for the sweet faces that are never blind to the melodies whistled in the wind...next flip to clothing ads...my band's sold its sound to style...the gap, man...the gap!?! mitch mitchell is dead...way past the trends, man, he rests on page 30.