Broken Windshields 2001-07-15
Some nights my brain Seems to want to Pound me into submision These are the nights that The uncreated seem to Dance before me As I'm staring into the darkness Daring me to make something of them And I pray for distant thunder To make its presence felt closer And I can hear bloody peculiar frogs Speaking about their problems of Having everything ruined Bumbling idiots In quick and frantic croaks And my head shows me pictures Of fish with lipstick On their backs And it occurs to me That there has always Been something sinister About the looks of oriental fish
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