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One For The Beer I'm About To Have

everything gets lost in the details like the question floating by is it the details that makes the

painting or is it the portrait that creates the drip is it the beginning before the ending or the

ending of the twist knot in the doorframe knotted the rope sways hanging from the tree all

and every every and all branches spiral in the thorned call propensities desire the desire of

a proposal I couldn't do anything different because if it was different it would end up to be

knot three tied twice wiser than a devils hand sharper than snake eyes fangs bite the neck

it is the throat that bleeds ancient song of the piano keys some song again begins the end

no one really makes any decision for themselves all is play in the actaeon all is handful mind

control of the devil all is karma's punishment being in hell walking free amongst the corpses

in such great heights repeat song three finding happenstance happens to be standing for

infinities alignment of readjusting spineless fiends whom walk as if nothing could be changes

angles again couldn't find it more madness couldn't define the thoughtless serpents mind

between the lines just trying to find the espace hatchet for a crashing fall more lost than

nought more found within than trying to be the upper hand than trying to be the guest list

dated marksmen of the ancient throng finding all to be less than appealing and far more

disappointing moving through the motions movement eating sleeping waking death unto

a dream ever a distance away from the hand touching fingertips alignment with space in

spiraled spiritual sound and sound spiritual yet sounds missing linksys sounds at the vast

expanse of nothingness screaming into the abyss for echo probable engulfment when does

it end always just one more step never thinking of the future always feeling the past within

always aligning again never second guessing nought a question just action answer and quick

snap of response from tongues whom know they know nought more than what they think

what they think they know of eyes in the realm of emptiness what they want to be and far

from being theives will steal your soul and prove to you that you've never had one to begin

with before your face was felt underground by dirt molesting caskets wood real death like

masks beneath a hood like ever looking into the reflection of the face in the mirror and not

like ever breathing recycled air from people talking people talk and talk they do talk a lot

about things I'll never know things only if and o if i could be never once standing by the

way side throwing sand into the wind for sparkling flying dying sparks of life moments of

the soul bleeding through the sunshine reminiscient collapse for stars beauty its all the sand

lifted in both hands collapsed on the knees that you dont see falling deeper into the black

abyss screaming within to make a connection just to feel like you made a connection with

somone whom dost nought think with someone whom does not live for the mask they wear

like hideous abundances of wit and clever traps for frisky cats whoms tailspin spun out in

self worship you laugh like you feel like every laugh you deserve you place your feet upon

the casket your spirit has earned find thyself further away from me before the conversation

began before self walked self to the edge of the precipice to fall in before we conquered

burlington like two adventurers on the prow of the ancient ship of death longing for a trip

looking for adventure like we havent found it yet and everyday the same endeavour to wake

up and be thankful for a lasting epiphany something to eat besides a bunch of bullshit from

teens too tired to try to be something beyond the everyday beyond the mask the face paint

beneath the hood the slave of death call me satan bow my head ringlets lost for sonic noise

white knuckled clutch of grass for boys sprinkling sonnets of the collasping mind grasping

diamonds and crushing spines for ink to write such a golden mind such a golden time worn

antique round the pit of despair for vipers longing to be free for every laughing face staring

into the mirror within deep behind the eyes reflecting absoluteness of an abundance of not

to be near to theives in the cave of absent days lost to the mindless dews more time lost

being found walking streets the corner round where were you in central park in the dark just

singing to the moon where were you when we were on the bench again with a new friend

smoking for the height of once again we here find nought within and when shall you again

disappear into nothingness dust for ashes flicked and everyone of them loves less than I

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