| Have-beens went into fury. | | | | From the barrel of a gun flows the religion. |
| Like silkworms, after the shockspinning the myths | | | | Spreading the thighs and bakingthe sweet croissants. |
| around them. | | | | Will the honeyheal the wounds? |
| Then the gossip will turn towardsthe words, locked in | | | | Of centuries? Moon god to moon godunder the |
| extrasensory awakening. | | | | swaying palmsman still cannot bring the house in |
| The gametes move in a chasm,needling the pastoral | | | | order. |
| scorn. | | | | Satish Verma |
| From the barrel of a gun flows the religion. | | | | MOCKINGBIRDS |
| Spreading the thighs and bakingthe sweet croissants. | | | | Have-beens went into fury. |
| Will the honeyheal the wounds? | | | | Like silkworms, after the shockspinning the myths |
| Of centuries? Moon god to moon godunder the | | | | around them. |
| swaying palmsman still cannot bring the house in | | | | Then the gossip will turn towardsthe words, locked in |
| order. | | | | extrasensory awakening. |
| Satish Verma | | | | The gametes move in a chasm,needling the pastoral |
| MOCKINGBIRDS | | | | scorn. |
| Have-beens went into fury. | | | | From the barrel of a gun flows the religion. |
| Like silkworms, after the shockspinning the myths | | | | Spreading the thighs and bakingthe sweet croissants. |
| around them. | | | | Will the honeyheal the wounds? |
| Then the gossip will turn towardsthe words, locked in | | | | Of centuries? Moon god to moon godunder the |
| extrasensory awakening. | | | | swaying palmsman still cannot bring the house in |
| The gametes move in a chasm,needling the pastoral | | | | order. |
| scorn. | | | | Satish Verma |
| From the barrel of a gun flows the religion. | | | | MOCKINGBIRDS |
| Spreading the thighs and bakingthe sweet croissants. | | | | Have-beens went into fury. |
| Will the honeyheal the wounds? | | | | Like silkworms, after the shockspinning the myths |
| Of centuries? Moon god to moon godunder the | | | | around them. |
| swaying palmsman still cannot bring the house in | | | | Then the gossip will turn towardsthe words, locked in |
| order. | | | | extrasensory awakening. |
| Satish Verma | | | | The gametes move in a chasm,needling the pastoral |
| MOCKINGBIRDS | | | | scorn. |
| Have-beens went into fury. | | | | From the barrel of a gun flows the religion. |
| Like silkworms, after the shockspinning the myths | | | | Spreading the thighs and bakingthe sweet croissants. |
| around them. | | | | Will the honeyheal the wounds? |
| Then the gossip will turn towardsthe words, locked in | | | | Of centuries? Moon god to moon godunder the |
| extrasensory awakening. | | | | swaying palmsman still cannot bring the house in |
| The gametes move in a chasm,needling the pastoral | | | | order. |
| scorn. | | | | |
