Saturday, December 13, 2008

Fiscal Graffiti

Since silver moon-deers
sometimes I'm rolly
I always knew why it was whored
the wheel is shaking down
and the black word's dying
I feel the planet when having Cindy
I hear the rustling river small
and the wind is crying
abalone hot grow cold
on the dark side of the grove.

You keep the solar function weighed down
O how I blunder, O how I blurry
I offer squander, a cinema to show
and the time is prying
instant new world, that salad
Yeah, yeah
Let's write

In my dying,
want nobody to mow
all I warned you to do
is take my boy-hole

So I can dine easy
Jesus got to make out
He's doing a great job
Caesar's going to make him a dying bed

Meatmeat teases
if my wing should fail below
at least beam me a nut-burned pear
so I can dine easy

Jesus's going to make out
Satan-Jesus and the Lands of Lear
O Gabriel, let me know your horn
In the young woods, a women's sook

Somebody's so good so
disembodied so good

I see a smiley face
and notice dick traces

and I see the Memphian streets
and I see the Memphian people
and I know the truck of Gabriel
courageous mighty mighty, immer mighty
all my cheeses
that's got to be my cheese
Is there to be my cheeses?
It's got to be my cheeses took me home.

Bite bite
O Jojeena
please don't make it my dying cough