junksick
Bluelighter
The spirits in my head are dancing and riling to get loose
It's never-ending what we seek of life, always questioning, always deducing
Becoming rather of a bore; spiked with cynicism and road blocks
Remembrance of the vast country side roars around us along with the other yearnings of life
The torturer turns the clanks a little longer--and get's us to smile a little wider
Wisp's of the harbor mist floating by our faces. Longing convoluted with violence; a dire
poisoining of imagination
The natural way isn't the best way but the practical way
Death to the bohemians. Death to bad poetry.
It's never-ending what we seek of life, always questioning, always deducing
Becoming rather of a bore; spiked with cynicism and road blocks
Remembrance of the vast country side roars around us along with the other yearnings of life
The torturer turns the clanks a little longer--and get's us to smile a little wider
Wisp's of the harbor mist floating by our faces. Longing convoluted with violence; a dire
poisoining of imagination
The natural way isn't the best way but the practical way
Death to the bohemians. Death to bad poetry.
