Thursday

Ya dig, aye gid.

The drones of something in celebration, windows of airless progression deliver a note behind hilarity. Locked doors in the short run. What can’t, we’re going and it’s polishing something into some translatable beef. Walking to places, it’s beyond the sporadic ways of dialing James. Anticipation and it beams us past congenial byproduct A wasteland and near departing into the convoluted and prophetic. Doors and boots, hand me the way to the fire. It’s lost in something folk, surrounded by something included in too many books. Reality in natural recreation. Optimize the real reasons and numb into something that was always that thing. The way of a juvenile, giddy and blown out to the resource, the sweet knot in the maintenance.. Say hat, too far back we’re too young of known action. Weird patterns and total Grandma’s best. It’s babe, it’s unfamiliar and sensual. Sex to the beat, thin walls and too much mentality. It’s all in the head and the voice is there.

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