Deteriorating.
Running and tired.
If life understood its jewelry.
I keep laughing, even when it hurts.
A bomb ass spirit, can’t find joy, what has God done?
Red juice, eating life, sipping in a dungeon.
I was sick on love, nobody gave a missive, lurking at the apple tree.
Having fun, like a drugged-out soul, it was never normality.
Trying to cleanse it, its depth, pure profundity.
It helps to cure a soul, for life is shitty, with music making it better.
Can I share something: I lie to myself: I keep saying, It’s alright.
We know it’s Fucked up: we laugh
self-consciously: to score again, blinking
into a dimension, mellow with Flame.
