He had a nose for the hoop, yet somehow the balls never touched it.
Swished effortlessly, slicing the wind's breeze open like a severed stomach.
Let's weigh the odds and ends of the mold that he's cut from...
Less chasing 'gods'. Say amen to the souls that we've dug up.
Sun up 'til down, day turns into night's camouflage on que.
Proves that life will forever attempt to sabotage our mood.
Rain or shine with pain in mind, that was until love showed,
fading nigh to chasing tides as pain instills trust's road.
He followed a map where all signs point to success.
Then swallowed the trap in due time. Void of unrest.
Great ploys we regret, yet we continue to press on forth.
Maydays to the desk, radio blues undressed for more
battles on the grqpevines, rattled by claymores and landmines.
Cherry poppins is there saddled in, same whore that franchised
stealing v-cards from backsides. So wet she drains. Capsized.
Caught. Running away empty from life's restraint. Landslide.
Told a room full of witnesses that they won't get out alive.
We mistake life for death when the gold runs dry in the caverns.
Or was it when our 'superiors' told the lies of 'average'?
Lust is a commonly used word to describe the above.
Inside of each thrust, love's mood slurred an insight to discuss...
"Slide your balls in my hoop, I've had dreams of the feeling."
She got over the pole, he folds, and began retreating.
"Why she have to say such nasty shit? Such a turn off."
A virgin so close to folding his deck, or was it a hard earned loss?
It was all he could accept. Charting, tossed by seas of true schemes.
Virgin seen under a noose, swaying, preaching a new 'Hoop Dream'.
Whether basketball, ballfucking or suicide, life splits in three.
If you can't react, please feel free to join Certain without a victory.
Swaying, missing teeth.
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