Quite the perplexing plexi-glass, sweat ’til you can bottle it.
In the crampest cracks of temperate max, I’ve surely just forgotten about it.
These starts and crosses, The gleam and shine, The zebra crossing, The thin blue line.
The seven awaken, the twilight dwindles and burns. But the controls of the hidden
Takes four-five to learn.
I’ve stolen a fragment. Well Buckaroo. Inside the music of the well.
There’s fuck-all else to-do.
I’m so pecé, it’s still good.
Alas, sweet read. I dig your hood.