crying like waylon jennings on ableton
why i take battery pack caps and diamonds
from an imagined babylon redundant exorbitant fortunes.
dying like a blue roy orbison on orbits, son,
because i was hated, beaten, molested,
and dosed, and lied for the public porcelain.
i live in the cultures created by the rhythms
of music that jingles and artistic economics intermingled
in the fiction of technological individuals.
there's never been a sacrifice that anyone
has ever had made successful without
potential intents of a self-sabotaging twylla. errors.
i got a lot of ran dumb thots, but why not?
i'd go bored rather than have random thoughts.
how's life in a greeting never get more than hi got.
yeah, i've had to stand and then walk, talk, hip hop.