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letra de boulangerie pom - cropscropscrops

at the end of the road sits the bend
an old desk made of the front door
i’ll question a blessing
like it was handed to me from the guest
how often i’m breaking down steps
you gave instructions for the pbj
and didn’t even note what kinda bread

wheat or 3 grain
there’s a bread store a short walk from my place
i go there when i can’t catch a breath
i don’t got a type
besides a large fence, a fireplace
only thing in my pockеt is the quarter rest
onе more thing, at least some sort’ve driveway
my criteria is the message sent
i won’t double check
i can see the impact from my standing place i wait for the bus back to catch
picking apart this cold sandwich with my dry hands
only thing in my pocket is scr-p paper with an index of my plans
just one sentence been written
why dont you leave it to chance?
that might need another revision of sorts
i’ll take time tonight to work out this cramp
i call the dog in
i know there’s something in that mouth of his
i put out my hand
he looks in my eyes for a split second till i reach out and pull open his mouth like a sedan
getting in my heads the cut corner
i ain’t picky bout the split what you arguing on
its all taste its all aesthetics i cut the stack of slices with my forearm

getting in my heads the cut corner
i ain’t picky bout the split what you arguing on
its all taste its all aesthetics i cut the stack of slices with my forearm

- cropscropscrops

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