hand rolled maelstorms,
trash bags of private tingle fingered paining,
code of burried metro-car paint hackjobs,
this is running out of paper in the rain
a final bass throbbed wishlist & the sky with all here thunderings wants us back to where she came,
the burnt rubber smelling ritual construction out of fox-news pepsi dust.
this, we've created, consecrated, lifting antennaes towards a non god,
a megalomania of fucked up shit.
michael jackson is dead and he's not coming back.
michael jackson is still fucking dead, no embalming fluid in a cave in olympia, washington with janis joplin, kurt cobain, jim morrison and tupac. all myths, myths, myths,
michael jackson is dead and he's not coming back,
michael jackson is dead and he's not coming back