| only on your vacuous arm-rest can i perch my complimentary cigarettes spoken, you. amidst soft speakers doin' that thrill with your hassles spaced out on the gas guzzle hillock duped like a hurried word knocking back shots of the thoughtless and absurd trembling with your mantra moving hungry, you. in the echelon aisle doin' that dull with your gristle singeing to a stop on your aftermath machine blemished in a rat-trap, racing... incredulous in parasite scenes pastoral in purring greens to you whom its possible to imagine i'm scurrying from the lamps in the paris of your kitchen fumbling like a slow train, blind. in strange and palatable delusions as matches burn out in formaldehyde streets |