And the pines called.
Only sleeping cities around…gas stations with neon fires…men and women shaking their booties with reasonless winds,
I have to cover an infinity and some more.
There’s a past playing violin for me, my future has gone to get a pack of cigarette and here I am steering with no brake and exponential acceleration.
I have made a promise to those mother fucking pines that I won’t take any thin gypsies on the way,
but a lady with singularity in her eyes and hair for the clueless wounds has always been my weakness.
She is sitting here beside me…holding my broken penis and licking my howling voices…
She has the power of making people go through the coals with watery winds.
Kiss me in my lips,
I have never found those pines anyways.