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letra de venus on the half shell - ishroyale

the vacuum chords not long enough, we’re bored in the womb of a coffee cup, we assume we’ll have our birthdays, made a hobby of keeping surplus, my fleeting youth stuck in a toys r us in la

mr. booth had has share of the backwood, and neither had made it to me
so i left that party for the backwoods, and neither was the place to be
laced with amphetamine salts, waltzing tastefully

the mountains pull the clouds over their peaks like blankets, so let us bow at their feet, pretending god is in the stones, ascending as deacons in shrouds of red and gold, baptized in a fountain of a flood, holy mackerel!

painting “merry christmas”, on the barber shop window where i long to hold you but the barber insist on talking about such remedial measures, and i treasure every second he holds my head in place, taking my mind off the pressure as a grin begins to sprout on my face, you were a gosh darn delight, for your sake, don’t resist a sinful life

drifting to the top again i hold my hands in another, this body is rotten and one has gotten bigger than the other
i slowly feel a rift in my impossible daydream, a plausible cause for my celibacy, impractical with metaphysical shoeshine, i feel a lift in my feet, cause nothing is holy nothing sacred, it’s not like me to be so pathetic, but the abysmal crumbling structure of a moment has me stumbling back home

- ishroyale

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