it still stabs me straight in the fucking eye
every time I remember the snow fall
the key was lost to valentino’s tower
the omens had never even been read
just invisible pages where death spilled out
out out into the hearts of instrumental
blooming scotch seeps nobly into papercuts
philanderers their churning yield bloody
reminding finer chew-z for the naturalist
mourn the truth until the three-sided die of Euclid
urges those in Rome to reveal and profess
Protect the south from these severely harsh judgements
amen
