There hasn’t been a peice of music
In this mouses house Since they signed out
Relax and delivered the language of antibiotics
Which Over took you whilst Printing
a prescription for self flagulation to sedations
In need of a colic and bols itched and rolled out.
to scratch your nose and pull out from behind
magicians ears with Smoke screen ideas of expressionism
And why would I threaten you when i Couldn’t even hear
your wanton needs when my heads not lost in
the Shallows of the water trilobite cohabited.
As all the mirrored doors have resolved
To remain chained as com one pear drops needles
And Roman Spears land amongst the immune.