He said now on the outskirts of night
He came to skip to openings
He asked for their mercy in word
And the doors brought tiles
And he would say
its scrubble and in a slut eye
The experiences were burning
And theirs would roll until juice
He hasn't been his whole life
But what is a purpose to him?
On hard ways, with a sword
On a lighting way?
What he is, what he is
to return the inferno to himself
Conquer bones with fire
and blossom in his place
He was singing
And we swallow with ripple we swallow with it
and move the signs
And terrible terrible returns contract
Ooh in breath
Way
or through
pleasantly
The road clown
The road clown bounces
Quiet for him on a wonder
And his head sons will run.
and quietly
He has no purpose yet