writethis

automatic hadik songs

blem vide

Three crossed I's

are all that are left

after the music died

as the electronic mouth implied

"all guilt is manufactured"

and that is where you're employed

so conjoin your fears like siamese twins

conjoin your fears like siamese twins

after I'm in the holy paradigm of crisis

and the effects of heavy solitude have subsided

and I'm excited again

about my chances to win the main course

thru a thick or thin voice

in medicines and moist

codes encoded to increase profits

- as you can imagine I'm out of money -

so if you wish in sweet chemicals name

and your bare hands map out a frame

with a mind transformed into time

metered metaphysics is as useless as your beaten metaphors

unless you steal into a third element

if your vibrating pitch is elephant

whether or not this is relevant

this is beyond my control

this device has a mind of its own

so now I'm a (beaten) metaphor

so basically I'm useless

except as a tuning fork

except as a switch in the road

dead bolt sleeve cold

a day or two of serenity in a womans arms

charms my libido

- as you can imagine I'm out of money -

Probably that old Serrapine Jungle

amazon stew brewing with plastic wrappers & pill bottles

a silver dollar was ingested

swallowed a woodscrew

choked on formless drizzle

staring up to a pistol

muzzle-brick road whorehouse

mouthing to score venus

Hey now, my Baby's in a commune, you see, she in one of these country communes

My Baby - she uh, she's in one of these communes here in the country, see?

What's that formula for the drug store?

Been selling love under the uncolored neon gas sign again

Been selling mud under the uncolored neon gas sign again

only a limited-edition gold christ glockenspiel

would be printed on with combat root juice deep ingested

tingling the spine

don't pick up on beirut in the terminal hall

posting courtroom slobber onto coats & ties hanging in the hall

Probably that old Serrapine Jungle again