When I ran off and left her. She wasn't holding a baby. She was holding a bottle. And a big grudge against me. . I tried to learn from the psychiatrist.
Take a light bulb from the closet. And replace the one above the faucet. Scrape the whisker from my face. Nick my lip in pointless haste. . Take a magical marker black.
your personal pariah is in a wool cap. the mirror flakes away take a long nap. . watching the threads disintegrate. like the Krishna beads in a lockbox safe.
It's a battle of the culinary arts. In this boiling land. You met your mate. Over across that river. And some good old contraband. . In thailand. Thailand.
suckin on a toothpick. soaked with cinnamon. the boys in the backroom played on. Anonymous Adonis. he's the one you want. the boys in the backroom played on.
after the splice. when the temperature's nice. after the patch. when everything's a match. after the patch. . after the edit. when it's had time to set.
I am sick of you. Expecting me to do. All those puny ingratiations. You know I am a terrible patient. . I am barely alive. Ever since my daddy died. And I've been searching for my own little babies.
super tuesday, on the ball. super tuesday. i am out on a stroll. . super tuesday, i'm in control. oh, super tuesday. I'm out on a stroll. oh I am out on a stroll.
Up on the bluff. Where i wish i was. Twisting up the pages of history. My cold feet dangling. My bony arms gesturing. To summon up a little chunk of that history.
Sitting in a square room. My voice is freezing. And the beams that are bouncing off the moon. Are hanging from my window like icicles. . Just a tired old alcoholic, waxing bucolic.
I'm sorry for my lack of communication. But as i'm staring out this fifth floor window. It seems like the least amount of communication the better. Oh, well what am i supposed to say.
you're a freak of nature. you are a siamese. you are in a pickle jar. for all the world to see. . Watching the sleeping man. Watching the sleeping man.
scratch, scratch, scratch. goes the cat on the carpet. she stepped in the blue water bowl. twitch, twitch, twitch goes my eyelid. my tounge in a cavity hole.
it's the plan of most. to discover that magnificent ghost. when did I get perverted. and my innocent eyes diverted. . from a view so grand. imbued with distractions.
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Sitting in the breakfast nook. Flipping through a saucy book. Browsing for a bit of titillation. (That's what you do, that's what you do). . Morning is warming.
I was shaking with laugther. Scared the bratty children. Did I destroy the ambience. I'm sure for that hoity-toity patron. . It wasn't pretty when I looked into the face.
where did you go after the parade. I wandered, searching for about an hour. then I parked it on a bench. shifting and sulking. those pesky little mosquitoes.
I can see my old hotel. Down amongst the smells. I'm up above that ancient city river. It's filtered by my lousy liver. It's filtered by my wilted lily liver.
Thin and unshaved, drunk and mysterious. Oh, I must say lifestyle is curious. . With a little touch of the sniffles. And filthy socks. Gnawed, crumbled fingernails.