Spores drift in a lame lane. Listlessly project woes on their corneas in the same way. Some say change closes it's window on a dime, I think it should leave that shit at the door and hit the neon sign. Who's got time for a stalemate? Cons watch in awe of constant walk-away jailbait. Watergate failsafe. I guess when push comes to shove you just smoke the bastards out and fuck the rules they gave you, even in Craster's house. Cottonmouth and mouse. Blocked movements on the patio. Mad municipalities rattled the bars of the cage and the status quo. Dagger to throat. Hot poker hissing acrid. Hagrid through incredible shrinking man line-up pageant. Palatable or haggis? I direct admiral to Kraken cause either way he's two-faced, it makes me hasty to waste his bastion. Action imagined not enough anymore, I need to satiate a hatred before it's placated and inert on the floor.

Selling my soul for a shot to chop the snakes head off and cross with the flock to greener grass, fuck the side behind, I don't want to die for a price.

On his front porch, Christmas wreath, welcome mat, and lamb's blood. Santa gets a bake sale, fellow man can eat Uncle Sam's slugs. Damn, son. That's cold case dedication to malice, a callous blight of fastened might in the panic room of your palace. What a talent for solo heckler emaciation of stillness, with diligence your name could make the world police's kill-list. Pillage deceased cities. Want to entomb them in obsidian even though I know it takes a village to raise the village idiot. Meridian imagery over the horizon of Yavin. Escape labored attempting concealment in anfractuous labyrinths. Map room salvaged. Divvy up parchment and send me some. Enemy overhead popping air pockets of bubblegum. They're crowing "You'll be hung up for the public then evenly drawn and quartered, poached and roasted for consumption. Odds of survival ain't looking good, kid. Walk backwards to the sound of my voice, this is the end."