While they lined up to wait on Black Friday. In a panic with shopping bags. There were magazine racks of cruel attacks. Seven new ways to please your man.
I have withdrawn. Out of the game. Erase my image. Rewrite my name. I can be invisible. The room service cleans. Sulley will bang on my door. With the cream.
I don't feel a thing walking on hot coals. No sensitivity in a fog of war. Try to unwind to enjoy the good life. But the pressure that I hold on my shoulders goes.
London fog and an empty suitcase. Choreography in Piccadilly. It's time to carve out a place in the sun. I'd like to hold my home where. The seasons never ever ever change.
There's a power in your voice. Or is it??. Send a telepathic thought. Like a lightning rod. In the distant blue. Smiling like you do. I will not disappear.
Talk to me well. All I could say. Is I need a few days. Of quiet and space. . Now that I'm here. Restless in chains. It could have been fun. If it wasn't so strange.
Clear out the spiderwebs. In your mind. When a hint of violence. Makes you cry. Get on my speedboat. The water's fine. The ocean calms you down. Leaves you kind.
The road, a yellow line unfolds. Jagged then corrodes, Pomona first of all. Machines they rush in a trance. Engines of despair. The taste of desert air.