Relax. Just breathe that face right off your body. Feel the pressure of day lift itself like helium. Suck on this helium. Find an area of your body that is complete harmony. Pretend like existence is a McDonald’s Play-Land. Pray for me. I’ll be sure your honor is met in weight by scale. Heavy is the hand that lay blue eyes on a sinking k-hole. Then the eyes tie-dye. And I don’t know you from anywhere. No cellphone, which I dropped in the toilet, and lost all my contacts. What you fucked me? I’m married now. So you gotta get that head checked because I image the no-fault insurance will help. Or that solider tier of Obamacare that doesn’t cost you a thousand dollars to get a q-tip stuck down your pee-hole only to come up positive for a cancer that’s neither sexually transmitted or viral. Just there. Just breathe. Believe in the holistic measure of song. Make out with Goldface Lost in Lucid Dreams that amount to 反射テープ. Below:
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