Sad Sally found herself at the happy rally,
thinking gladly that the pills effects didn't dally,
etch one more line through the ones she made to tally the whole-ly honest hell swell in the heart
of that valley.
Well then,
pick up your pastel pen,
and dribble mark a patterned wall by the hearth inside the den,
First rendition of absolute repetition,
the words don't really matter,
it's always just for the diction.
The depiction of victim's stories of prosthetic vision,
interesting glory story and it even had the sound of conviction.
Now listen,
better weather never made the basement dweller a best seller,
only bought 'em a vest for when the clever get stellar.
You're doing great.
You're doing fine.
You're doing fucking fantastically.
Drastically re-establishing the past pride frantically.
Dismantle me.
(Repair)
Revert to a sugar glazed unaware stare like 'slowly getting there'.
Slowly getting where?
It's half past truth or dare,
now no one's playing this game fair.
It's in the expression that you wear,
looking through the glass made for looking at your half ass idea
at a pass.
Good job class,
you all get an A plus,
in mistrust, fake love and drug lust.
You're not okay.
You're not alright.
You're not keeping it together.
But together was just another stranger with a letter.
Let's do each other a favor forever,
get the fuck out, take your shoes and leave me your sweater.
Stormy weather only makes the feather wetter,
dampening the flight of the sappy story teller.
An obtuse truth hidden in knee high suede boots causes the skin to swelter.
High five smack sound from the Skelter creates a loop.
We were only half sick so we didn't eat the soup.
Simpleton's get simple simply off getting silly.
Get willy nilly,
bee stingers up if you feel me.
