There's a piece of tinsel above the fire where you left a crispy nut in the crystal bowl. I stroll, sigh and pick up IT in resonating muses by which i mean to tell you not a minute of an hour of a day goes by when i don't remInisss.. the past and how it changed my me, for who am i but just this hollow shell defined by your puppetry? So slow the empty days of now the news of you comes quick and fast at the marble telephone, and when it rings you speak of cabbages, kings and gravy. Steps that pick-me-up eg:synthetic E-numbers/loose men/savage media and vague musication... That listed I in a rainy night while it crusted over the mildew settling on my head while i watch the tape play you- shaking the drips from your heavy head. 4 months later, i reply to a telegram from the Queen, (not literally of course) I'm sent to outer regions where an existian only rewards the stable minds. Quick, queasy muppets! I'm still trapped by you, with your hair style/clothe style/style style I repeat with your shiny eyes i watch you weep for Madeline yet another 'conquest' (in my humble opinion) Bitterness bites my throat but i can't choose to speak these things only to comfort and patiently wait for your happiness again. That's when the hypothermia sets in and i throw out the empty nut packet but i just can't let go of some pieces of rubbish...
