i feel like living, i'm going to miss sex and learning differences between this and death. so no one's home, someone inside says. i've been expecting you, luminated thoughts in distribution throughout a room of tributes to men whose skulls are cave walls to the candles inside. we shadow dance and draw it out, marking mascara and lipstick animals with criminal characteristics, geneticly medical addictive personalities summing it up in this predictive worse anolagy, the sudden burst of galaxies and self fulfilled fallacies. any one genevians imaginations figment, the last deleted pigment in the eyes of a phoenix in flight through a scenic mind. love is a topic, everyone's an object. it's how we project the microscopic protons and get songs stuck in my head, recorded and restored in destorted frequencies. as we frequently relate and tune into faces translating charades. someday when men in berets rain bullets on parades, reels of tomorrow played and put in canisters, a virgin fast forwards to the love til life vanished hers. why is there malaria? her curious minds a spurious neurological series of plausible area, asking how the air is up there. when we understand an unrestrained white lace loving and strange place is the day i die, to feel love, it's easier done than said. because this love is never dead.


Lyrics submitted by KevinCHansen

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