Today, your ratio-hum founders in some must-be plasma, and the plaque of your heart stuffs someone else's shirt.
Whose plaster hides the beauty of you? Whose fostering of counts and costs and futures of cake mete out slabs in time to a mechanical arm?
From under your mantle - your skin of cream - you wretch a force-fed ballast - a spouting of rock to sink all melodies.
Whose plaster hides the beauty of you? Whose fostering of counts and costs and futures of cake mete out slabs in time to a mechanical arm?
From under your mantle - your skin of cream - you wretch a force-fed ballast - a spouting of rock to sink all melodies.
