Get the dew drops on old mops pouring out the shoe box,
mood rocks to cure the talk of losing what you thought could walk,
and launch the magic music mock-ery.
de-bauchery, how'd you fucking construe the lame attributes to the-"SOMEONE STOP HER, PLEASE!"
Running down empty stairwells,
dim light emotions got me spitting out farewells.
Perhaps it's not the time for me,
but I've got time for you,
so hand me the mood and get misconstrued till we rename the rule.
Cruel deconstruction after combustion,
a lone-ly waiting for some suction.
Lustin' for the movie dwellers, making porno party cellars some gold off of faux feathers,
forever.
Locked inside the realm of what you are, not what you want,
now the laser beam is aiming, gleaming, pointing at your spot.
Whatcha gonna do now, run away like every knows?
Or take a chance, turn around and start the fucking show?
