Spit it out. Time i set this record straight all the needle nose punching is making me irate, sick of my bitching falling on deaf ears, where you gonna be in the next 5 years? The crew and all the fools and all the politics get your lips ready gonna gag gonna make you sick, you got dick when they passed out the good stuff bam are you sick of me? Good enough had enough
The moon, she hangs, like a cruel portrait, soft winds whisper the bidding of trees. As this tragedy starts with a shattered glass heart and the midnightmare trampling of dreams, but oh, no tears please. Fear and pain may accompany death but it is desire that shepherds its certainty as we shall see