And a collection of villages going back centuries springs forth in the will
And at first when you're 12 and the singers are artifacts babbling their surplus of sadhappy fiction later it all becomes cap in his ass cap in his ass sacred wicked baptist hero love you so like the nearly almost too slow love of a redeemed sinner with gangster proclivities and can chant anything into peak spells
with a joy that cuts so deep it's qualitatively different than pleasure
quit playin / don't interrupt me
I want us to have new conversations with Kings
Fennel Bitter
wormwood
tea tree oil
nutmeg
mixed in walnut oil
nah like potion but not rubbed in to the grown in feet of any dancer either we remembering
