know that's all. That God will give tonight. Wake up in the morning
and know what's right. Lost in the sorrows of many tomorrows. And a
white scarf that promised me an answer. Camoflauged like cancer. A
dancer in the body's black box conservatory. Ending stories with
shoulda coulda woulda. So sad. Too bad. That there weren't more
heroes. More famous dumb shows. After who knows how many ties. Forget
the for guys who brought us to this moment. Darn it! All they did
was sign a paper some other man scribbled on. What about what the rats
have so neglectively nibbled on. Tribal gone. And all that's left is
a smile. By a girl wearing white. With an often awkward mile. To walk.
With no shoes. She shoulda worn boots. And that bumb woulda left us
alone. But heels are priceless. When in Rome. We kill. Always sign the
Will. Unless. What's the deal? Did someone say snow? Look out? I
can't be bothered by your antics. Lock it up samantics! I'm losing
all cause. Forgot which is the ceiling and what be the walls. Tell me.
Please. I'm begging. Answer, or I may convulse or spasm. Did you catch
the ferocity as I went for sarcasm. I'm not sure why I'm taking this
out on you. What's one plus one? ...
Photo by Fred Watford. Words by Dustin Whitehead.
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