Touch the pulse of city's night Neon moonstone disco lights Corpse crystal hue, cadaver blue The wind whistles dark and lonely
walked nine miles to moonstone one morning in three thousand foot fog freezing snow falling on my shoulders wondering about the whispers
"There's only one thought in the world," he said. "Oh yea, what would that be?" she asked. "It's the thought you're having right now," he said. "Minus the idea of the person having it."
Broken lamps, the bitch is cookin' Scampi for her tramps, I come home late in a trance, she's up skeezin' and my eyes, she be tweezin'
Softly spinning golden splendor; Runic snow crystals speak, Illumined by sacred sunlight, Balming the barren branch.
