How Odd to See These Lamps Still Burning

The crooked birds below you
Let me pierce you one way or another
I see clearly your shoes devine
My infashionable habit
Of strong white skin
Mourne it and don’t look at me
He sat in your beautiful cafeteria
Corner of the magic let hall
You’re tall, after you
Your endless growl oversees your boyfriend
You’re still living
I’m the graveyard
I’m steve
I’m the pen cap’s piling up
And my crooked, and my business
My one wheeled bicycle
It’s a shoe store
I’m passionable about this snow white
You’re decapitated
Blue, blue sky is opening
And now you’re loving it
The sun is shining
It’s forty two degrees
The captain barrel is hiding our stupid conversations
And even though we’re growing up
Becoming less our father
It’s a goddamn torture
It’s a hard day for revenge
I’m not a figure on crests
For you’re still stopped
Revenge is back seat anger
So stand aside