Big burly buckets of beans in a soup canteen, asking me politely if I still was a has been.
Slow silence and sound screams, not knowing whether to dare or dream.
Minus my magic, married by logic into a silver blue suit, never ask Noah if he packed your flute.
Obvious analogies, fitting fallacies, tautologies, originalities, all the third-world nationalities gathered baseball bats in a banana tree and launched hysterical bees at a satellite tv, laughing so rude and scatologically.
Find me foolish, drink my wine. I don't bother to dress up swine.
Heaven men, best of 10, nothing to compare when we have no when.
I miss that season, the meaning, the simple dimension, when I got excited at a media mention. When running water's everywhere, do I give my friend a drink? When information is the air, well, don't ask me what I think.
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