Thursday, May 28, 2009

I don’t speak a lick of that that language and I got a slippery memory


Let me get uh…ink poisoning…

European tailspin scrawlin’ messages on my pail skin in hopes that they get mailed in.


This is my box

These are my walls

This is when time stops


You’re coming with our family recipes and us.


Let me get uh fire…  I’m at the fire…  where are you?


I’m at the fire…where the hell are you?  I’m blacked out

Don’t get cooked by the pilot light, I can smell metal in the air tonight.

No comments:

Post a Comment