Rope A Dopamine, Seize the Serration, arrest the nervous, and make everybody safe again to talk about the weather again.
Sting like The Police Breaking IN, Dance like a Butterfly out of the Caccoon … you Doctors of Feel Good, You Princesses of Princeton.
Pride in the name of power, even if its forcing change on the freeway on ramp. Pan handling, silver spoon cooked heroine in laboratory settings, pill forms, pill lifestyles of the rich and poor incommunicado.
I could screw your materialist wife and raise your kids as you distract yourself with all the important data that stops you from being a good mama AND dadda, a brother or sister to me.
I won’t, its be a long time since I was screwed but I feel that Universal Sacrement (suffering) every day and there is nothing sacred or totally profane. Its just hand to mouth, until we all stumble off of the Prides Hill Where the Only Sermon That Was Made or Matters, By a Character In a Book, an actor on a screen, Doesn’t fix a mad man or mad woman, living without and within everything.
