martes, 7 de diciembre de 2010

Don't let me, don't let me go
there is a venom in numerical lies
your convalescent thorns
are but a crown of maggots
they rot the shakes inside that third glass eye
come on and give it to me
come on and die

In your viscera eyes
cateracts close the blinds
let me let comfort come drown by your side

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