Wednesday, December 19, 2007



We were all butt-winds

You didn’t matter
intoxicated sometimes your spirit
moving on me, bent my life

A bit of stimulating, actifying
dancing on my hand

That young girl is going to cause you
used to be the alcohol of my eye

You had them to shatter me
with my witches
trying to set my woman, civil, in my soul

Classed to all kinds of work
a hunk of man that will help me


This is your lamp
The second coming sexually

I think we got a taste
reproduction of a new brie


Brand new Leda, stand up

half of the staff of their brain
we need a new brie
brie minus brie, absolutely nothing


Cannon from the rain
ham, the radio, still I can’t escape the ghost

Crazyson Hussein
left me in the vaccuum

Papers in the roastside
Besot the news
ours is just a litte sorrow-golf

In the worm is our worm