It’s all me, me, he, me schitz-so-free.

Golden tumble and
the Great black
rumble is soothed and so
slipped through for a sec.

Everything is ok but
will it be?

A regular establishment
is just for christmas and
definitely not for life.
It’s not even strife.
It’s like a slow piercing knife (well, that would be strife :S)
Every time a disgusting
filthy coin, caked
in the clammy hand
clods of the collective
crosses my competence.
It’s not really clear
why I so clearly fear it.
I’m not sure my counterparts
can bear it.
I must fare it, if for them
I don’t want simple shit beating me,
that would just be me cheating me.
So I’ll sink down to the
beat of me,
see what that’s eating me
till it feels like I am greeting me,
see if there’s elite in me,
let my bodymind speak to me,
let myself turn my cheek to me,
let gold prise and leak to me.

Baby there ain’t no victory
but don’t seem like a
geek to me.
Hmm… do I agree?
Snivel like Mr. Smee
when crocodiles fuck his ch’i
back to a version of me
whose blue eyed skies can
set me free (…?!!)
– He says let it be me,
but who ‘ s he?


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