by .adfs

Created on: April 28, 2008

On The Couch

Past the arcane high ceilings shooting out ludicrous neon light
Lurks some kind of walnut door, obese with wealth
the shag carpet slithering around the ankle like living grass
the leerin' stone cold lamps makin' me shrinkin'
i guess i was thinkin' of gettin some emotional high
he saved that for the bill

ring a ding ding, calling the warriors in the forest

the fake tan dreams
the shocks up and down the spine
to the new, once more before
the turn takes some kinda psychadelic video game ride
spend the night, you wont fight, making dark to light

As unwelcome as a high collar,
his stare is piercin' through sporadic mental fogs
nauseas with addiction, i'm spewin' and spittin'
the discourse shows the line of travel,
spending coins on his engine
whilstthe flooding floor wrings the latest laundry
Of broken dreams and desires

Thirty seconds overtime, bustled out the door
ain't got a dime!
the beat of the street curling up in the tendrals of the time
while I absorb whisky like some floating desolate sponge
the wind was howlin', i'm stranded on this corner
I pull a cigar, it walks right off my face
like a moustache on the tide making it abstain to the sand
climbin' ice pick stairs, howlin' with violation
spending the cold hard yards on the trip, the fall, the wall makes wise
sluggishly crawlin with minimum corridor violence
the door slammin out the cold
slouchin' into some couch, the cigar now on parole

performed here - www.myspace.com/rawdasity

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