You are a chiseled masterpiece in a phantom time,
Your lines bear proof of a forbidden love...
At the end of falling raindrops that mingled with...
At the end of each every rainfall lies a mystical...
Guns at the ready
Getting prepared to fire...
discarded condoms
on streets use to be the worst...
I hear America singing, the varied carols I hear
Tales of joy ringing off the rooftops...
Fine is sand,
Fine is skin...
Seas can be blue,
Seas can be green...
Incessant flies are buzzing
In these fire-hydrant times...
So I’m standing here yet again
whilst the camera blinks...
Once more, it starts.
The gathering of smiles...
channel your own thoughts
switch yourself off from it all...
You sound like the friends I am supposed to know
The past I’m impugned to carry in tow...