Go around the roundabout, fleece what you
can take a dollar off the price: be a fucking
man—dreamy river flowing, drown what’s too
indecent to say, except maybe I won’t, just
for today. can’t feed the cat, going to
drown that, too—don’t drink the water, think
what of the lot of them—assholes—will do?
Got to be good if I’m going to the brink
run this country like i organize myself,
plotting against the heartless—making a show
he scares the beef out of me, start my new
routine—say all the things I used to know.
Angel wants to put me in my place, i can feel it—she don’t take any shit, and, since the beginning of time, well, I can’t stop it if I’m not aware of it. that sword, then, cuts both ways; easier to stab a loser in the back
I’m not going anywhere until after the integration: then we’ll see what happens when we continue the operation; he goes to me, indefinitely, master of the future, student of spacetime. but nothing is more important than realizing myself; i believe i am them in the afterlife: this is the syn-opsis of that eternal reward.
chopping down a tree, you’re no good
to me: you’re not getting fucked enough—
distribute the sauce; little do you know,
if I could, well, then i would get kind of rough
because i don’t like you or your pillbox
hat—crying for a monkey, harder than rocks,
sent to do your bidding, coughing up a
lung. no sympathy for the people that
ignored me when I was a weakness to
them; bridle me a donkey, think of the
juice: I roll it out like dough, wait for you
to rise: here comes the monkey, be wise
to them; knowing, friend, that they’ll hunt
you down if you apologize to them
want to watch TV, want to watch the cunt,
disseminating garbage: take what i stem
rue the day, O wise one, mighty fiend from across the sea; Sacajawea coming for me: don’t look now, loco, you think too much about me: i don’t think of you at all, unless it feels like work to me.
look, jumping juniper, can i do this in drag? shaving my legs—it’s not all bad. think of me kindly, when i sing my song: My voice breaks in two—tells me, “hell yeah,” and then it won’t be long. working a little too hard at this—a testament to His drug, Risperdal is funky, makes you oppose yourself (without giving a shit)
so glad, then, that I can sleep, let it do what it must; leave me spade and neutered, that has got to stop; can’t be good for you, my master, but this is all we got: switching to Latuda—on point, i suppose, hoping for a target
Going to run this country; going to live in the White House; walking to a ballroom; psych; turn the house out. make it into a museum, baby daffodil, flowers in the making—flowers of evil, friend. Stick it to the idiot that fell in love with me; everything is backwards, that is the key, so switch up the limits, and join His odyssey.
hear my baby in the lurch, thinking of
me—all i need is a drink—glass of your love
try me in the morning: used to gnashing
my teeth; wearing for my baby a worn
masterpiece. She doesn’t see me coming,
lord knows i’m her type, already full of
steam, going to be a Chrisian Viking,
thinking of my doctor—dispelled by love
what the hell, man? Are you fucking crazy?
She loves you more than anything, toe nails
aside; fuck this, brown mama, hear my plea:
if you can’t love me . . . go back to your mansion
California seeing red; don’t like that fucking
woman—i don’t think i like her at all,
get out the fucking way: this is tough shit
you have a lot of tolerance, some gall
in your spleen: what I’d do to love you,
i mean physically: But i digress, i know—
forget His security: say hello to my boo
meant to travel far and wide: take it slow,
and even slower than that; write a sad
song—about mortal combat. I’ll be looking
over your shoulder so long as you’re glad,
don’t want to interrupt the what all we had