black box recorder song
I remember being aggravated when the snow fell dark and soft in patterns unseen to the science eye. We fell our own ways into crystalline snow angels ageless faces on our mind (�time doesn�t turn over�, we told ourselves.) crisp morning air and madness at the edge of dawn this was the way of the world here, at listless cough syrup dream syndicate wakefulness at always here and fading (we are between stages) and air flight attendant blanket pillow shit-taker for you. And all the rest that never know just how far past home we are. But I�ll fiddle on, play the piper and retell the stories of the my life in eggshell universe detail like mental masturbation theory and past quake activity (clouds lulling by) cars like ants at our feet and reasons to leave this cold dark heart of a room with it�s frenzied paces. No one can outlast the sun.
2004-10-22 | 11:18 a.m.
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