where my lonely drifters at. corner of my eye dead meteorite always something to pocket i felt nauseous because i’m the mirage and i’m a morrocan smoking hashish that’s the burroughs talking always wrong owe it to you sewing the bruise
corner of my eye dead meteorite something something sarcophagus that’s where i burrowed that feeling
i was bored on top of the mountain i was born in a bed of klonopin i would break my face to ignore it i would break it all for you because you make me feel like halloween
