IF YOU THOUGHT | THAT THIS WOULD | MAKE ANY SENSE, |
---|---|---|
i lay my head down to rest my life is a concerto of pseudo-symphonics i've cleaned up all the guests love is chemistry. sex is physics |
for the living outnumber the dead tonight god o god o god o god the ice then dance a jig in the pale moonlight I can not decide; I cannot suffer choice; |
from out of the pages of Southern Bell. Father lord, mother earth. And they make really great 'Twas my last mistake-my death knell. The sun...beating down like a waterfall of heat |
YOU | ARE | MISTAKEN |
and fret, and be profound! The odor of tang eminates from her flume Hey, what's that creepy nighttime sound? my circuits are overloaded, but I'll try to do better next time |
While around our head and shoulders our life falls in ruins are garishly displayed on my bod. He tried to get out when I tried to get in he would rule with an iron's rod |
And in other times we baste the elves Summer burns on, and my insanity grows. And in other times we baste the elves The deafening sound of screeching crows |
NOTHING | MAKES SENSE | HERE |
Stuff my nostrils with water chestnuts I'm turning yellow... I hope they go and hide in their huts For a sigh, if not for the sorrow |
We drank away the best part of the day and I stood to go, for he was hollerin' and all too soon will my nose decay. in coins |
Through the Fjords of Norway a mosquito resting upon an eroding dock Shooting clouds of fibre high into the fray during dinners, underwear and old socks |