i'm waking up from a grey day induced corporate coma.
comma- separate two like minded half witted thought patterns, still though this thing is stuck on a window sill.
MAGNIFiCATION times twenty seven and all good monkeys go to heaven.
I always hit the stop button on saturn day nights, when the booze comes flowing and the smoke starts smoking and the girls start purring something gutteral between the breast tucks. i've got my own private table next to the stage, fill me up with synth. I'll drink it all in till they tell me i should be blind and goodness me where did the time go? Fell down, not in a gutter- too much trapped in doors for that kind of a shenanigan, fell down in Down. Drown out the pixelated axe chops and my pawns click click bang away the night.
chicken taquitos and an sore thumb.
my car creaks when i turn corners.
my oil needs changing.
i've got a great life staring down the barrell of my gun and all i can do is wish that the clouds would clear up so i could spin the stars and find my lost palm print again.
they say success comes. they say it goes. i don't really know- they want me to move cheese. patent Vee Bee scripts and fuckwitted me didn't cling to the it film when it came round. Now playing in corporate logons and Vee Pee Ends.
Some one kick me.
I need to wake up.
