Part 1

This forsaken room of individualists, they've taken leave of their senses, an unsocial balance of red tinted lenses.
Just because they're not talking doesn't mean I don't know; I specialize in kinesics.
The baker bakes. From his door, Directly North or so he read in his sundial porch is

Eliot from Extra - Terrestrial called:
can you phone home, your bike has been stolen.

I discovered a bottle of kitchen floor cleanser and managed to take note of the large pill dispenser.

Equinox of the mind. An absolute.

The beatings are just empowering.
A sofa evening of films and no meaning,
You rubbed #### into the handset, now even the dial tone sounds like your voice.
I'm seven seconds from the end.
And somewhere between performance and the object, there's a penny pot:
Amidst the pasta strainers and the cereal complainers, she cuts cucumber on a chopping board. Replace the vegetable with her neck and my thoughts would be right in check.

Part 2

We all hold hands to suck his dick so Captain Jack can get his hit.
I'm shallow pad on a witness floor as I rub myself with the plaster board.

Divorce is such a terrible thing. – She said.
It's always the kids who suffer. It made him tougher.

Here comes Santa Clause to a rapturous applause.


Will we always feel like ##### from these kids who still can't write?
There's a canvas tent stained with cinnamon,
A paper bag you can crease and shiver in.

There are no photos of my self esteem; there's no reinvention for pleasant weather.

Left over - you are the one and only.
It's a clean thought but your T shirt says anal.

This is the gospel according to Jack: Equinox of the mind. An absolute.