Creeping on your sleeping game that I never could obtain. Stories of awakened nights are the only kind of fights I have to give. Good night, they say. But, I'm still awake.

My bones were made to snap on impact. My lungs fill with liquid every time that I laugh. And no I don't take it personal. No I just play it cool.

Self induced over dose of self doubt. Losing time on the kidnappers where abouts. Boo hoo. There's a ghost on the wind with the flavor of sin. Sin. Sin. Burn it, bury it, send it to the foothills.

There's a cold dirty wind rise inside of me, that sent this spirit on a bullshit journey. Well let it be easy. Wait one at a time. That's why we have lines. For time, in due time, to save time.

And that's what choked the camels throat. No not broke. I took the long way I out, yes I did. And this fist. This fist is not a friend or a foe, but a tool for kindness. I don't know who taught that nonsense. So I guess I learned a thing or 12.


from Furniture Pedagogue, released January 7, 2017


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