at yourself till your neck diagonally itches,
finally find a shower with a buncha well-dressed babes,
and then your remarkable appreciation of beauty is set aflame.
flying down the highway as a ghost with the haunted guitar
there's a spook that the paranormal hasn't been spooked enough yet by
my oh my isn't it so fly or dry or other easily misaligned lyre?
mezzanine tie-dyes
what could possibly blow my eyes out of their asshole sockets?
besides trying to hold my breath while pondering the infinite future?
usually i have a lot more control over myself than this,
yeah bebeh.
but now...you've obtained the full remote control of me.
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