This is called over the hills where nothing happens.
The props I fetch
Rest in the pot I piss
No accomplishments (for this kid)
I got only condiments
Form the comps I get
Ignored by my rabbit reflex
I'm that text reject? (yes!)
Then call me from the harlots' dress
Barrow me from nights I missed N' mixed
With her scarlet breath (shit)
With my alphabet niche
The bonnet on her head?
Smelled of cigarettes and silt
(She said her friends would all drop by again)
Last summer her record says
Adept. All rotten wins against
My effort uninvolved in all this retrospect
In intoxicants friends, dead on arrival. Red
(mean old lady, you taught me to weap and moan...oh well)
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What is public must be legit, fit for average consumption, don't forget. What is private is handled by pirates, prying loose profits from prosthetics. To tell the difference between: first remain unseen with a steady breath and hope, then listen to the cracks in the wall with a stethoscope.
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