Retarded orange shepherd’s golden toilet
Has seen more secrets than it keeps
Black-hatted white sheep milked for his green sheets
Black-eyed, Tweets:
Whatever happens,
we have got
the spaceships,
and they do not
There’s fog for 20 metres from here From here to screen To midwinter For the chill to draw out this splinter If I could, I would. See? I’m restless But in a wrestle Can’t follow the weather Can’t stay in the metre
Choose your fighter carefully Or you’ll be a well-honed knife That’s in search of fear It was a path You laid out For yourself Well, I’m too old to lose a breast As I fight for respect In the name of a straighter shot
