Freakazoid Skeleton..


A look down from the tower we see.

The grapevines and the deciduous trees.

Ripening in the summer breeze.

What more could we ask for, please.

Distance- the mind never sleeps.

Always talking , rewind and repeats.

To reveal the last open door.

Hear the sound like never before.

Nervousness comes sudden and fast.

Seconds of its warmth drift past.

The horror ascends these lost hills.

So lost, the seasons diminish the chills.

Came back to see these days bloom.

Like a hawk where perched eyes loom.

Dancing in toward the fire’s tomb.

Amazed breaths of wisdom’s womb.



Keep coming, twilight it reads. How shiver, imperfect deals.

Mud running, here are your shoes. Down in the frost line.

Echoes- they insulate. Outwitted- the beacon’s gray slate.

Blue phosphate. All correlate, down to the base line.

We charge by and lick the last lime.

Driven down and no plans to try.

Sadness ate our visions and time.

And no one will say bye.

Last call, morning’s a bust. Red dawn, and she’s full of lust.

This fall, the temptation will rust. Once here up on the time.

After this, go get the got. And our souls are past the rot.

The white spot is what is not. Down in the frost line.

After this we’ll go away.

After this we’ll be out of the way.

After this nothing else to say.

After this, go get the got.

After this we’ll be past the rot.

After this is what is not.

After this… hmm hmm hmm hmm

After this… hmm hmm hmm hmm.


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