Black Boots and Trippy Soundscapes
I see red.
The kind of red that consumes my pupils and
Dilates my imagination.
True, Im not one for guilt
Cause I tend to tilt my sense of reality
Each time I steal a glance, a touch, a kiss
I dont seem morose for the one I have been or
The other you I have been with.
Ill have to tell you in secret, in cold whispers
That a chill runs up my spine
When I seemingly gloat and float,
When I caress your heart with my dagger
And Minced of Men will melt and stagger
But I only pine for you, and your matchlessness.
How grim it justly states Im a temptress not a marksman
And theres no country for my exposed psyche legs.















Comments
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"I was just sipping on something sweet I don't need political process."
-Brandon Flowers/Lou Reed
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