Beachobo’s.

Potentially the garden paths lead to Athens 

as you took to turning plane 

To take on a mic to crow over turin 

The rapturous math taken aback and drawing 

Breath on all those army’s that drew sides 

For contemplation in emitting radio silence 

Individualism was felled by cathode light 

Lost in empirical fathoms judging men 

By their horses nose staples into skulls 

Skinhead evaporated