Poetry · Writing


We made it to beach city

yellow trousers and a sun cap

dancin’ till the music out of season

we don’t need a reason stay here all night

treason. Makin’ love with the right one

till the end of the run- tonight- we dance

till the fire burns out,

oh shit we’re on fire

somebody do something


uhhhhhhhh false alarm

cryin’ wolf is not my party trick

maybe I’m just a little home sick

feelin’ to quick to stay but to weak to notice

hangin’ on by a thread flying lotus

pray for the bullet in my head thrusting

somebody do something

somebody do something


move something such a tough thing

just a pair of trousers

chasing this princess maybe I’m Bowser

keep tryin’ with some flowers

debate riskin’ it all but I’m such a coward

fuck it- off with the trousers.

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