Post by Steve on Oct 28, 2005 21:42:50 GMT -5
to__________________
i wish my soul would sprout from my crown and drape my body in a silent fog shroud, warm worn wool falling down over my legs cause, lonely cold
beatin the street neon 'opens' but no soul to love. i gotta make a call to a saint but a quarter too short fallin back in the booth. smooth-struttin cuttin down the ave; eyes of poverty, razors disecting the world peeling back reality layer by layer by layer. the statue by the church is bathing and trimming his stache behind the curtain fir.
my eyes are as hollow as dried bamboo-empty and devoid of any atman cause in the flood of wine he was carried away down the thames-as i say this letter to you, my parents, and stagger up the stone path that will lead these cold legs to warmth.
thank you
______________________
i wish my soul would sprout from my crown and drape my body in a silent fog shroud, warm worn wool falling down over my legs cause, lonely cold
beatin the street neon 'opens' but no soul to love. i gotta make a call to a saint but a quarter too short fallin back in the booth. smooth-struttin cuttin down the ave; eyes of poverty, razors disecting the world peeling back reality layer by layer by layer. the statue by the church is bathing and trimming his stache behind the curtain fir.
my eyes are as hollow as dried bamboo-empty and devoid of any atman cause in the flood of wine he was carried away down the thames-as i say this letter to you, my parents, and stagger up the stone path that will lead these cold legs to warmth.
thank you
______________________