I've leaned too hard on my crutches. Wherever I walk I'm as easy to stalk. As a scrapper without the punches. . And it tastes just like it smells. From the first bite I could tell the cake was poison.
He says that he's an honest man. Taxes not included. He's pinstriped and naturally tan. Tan from all of the shine. He's running under your noses. . He says that he's a moral man.
Dear Mr. Good I'm writing to tell you about my child. He's in the fifth grade and very dangerous. He thinks he's smarter than you and I and everybody else.
Color blast the beautiful. I feel antsy and political. Always doubt the cynical. They want to ruin the world. . The air is so polluted. Like Poseidon's halitosis.
I haven't seen you since the big burn. Now you look like a Boston fern. We had a pig roast with the earth. And it spun on its axis like a pig on a spit.
"I know she's home", "Hello?". "Ah yeah, hello, can I speak to Darlise, please?". "She's not in right now". "Yeah, but that woman's never in. I mean can you just tell her that Freddie called?", "Sure to".
All my bulbs are burning out. I've flipped the switch too much, too soon. Now, in the dark I just sit still to the rising of the moon. I would howl all night and all day.
It's a nice day out for a stroll in time and space. Memories have married and they've laid their eggs. Right angles held captive by a square. It takes four to tango and a steady hand.
I just finished putting my seventh drink away. A week now since her death and a drink for every day. Soon it will be fifty, I won't be worrying about ulcers.
As the page gets wider this song gets longer. As the burden gets lighter the man become able. There's a hole in my pocket Elijah, Elijah. A hole in my shoe my skin hits the ground.