Handlers lurk for saints such scams
And I became a saint when I was seven what plans we have!
Revolution feather pillows foam ones former slavers for lovers
Resurrection cuddle here and there and here again for salt all infinite
In the trickling water a tall luxurious gentleman who is always nervous
About his card trick always sticking clubs in the bushes this paranoia
Other than being vain and homely at the same critical moment of disaffinity
Makes it easy to sneak up on him with analgesic soothe ask rude nurturing
Questions nurse his addiction to himself and run out naked in the throat of night
To tell on him I fell on him
you know I’m Corintha you know I’m Maafa you know you’re trapped
In a cloth dark empty parking lot with god your dealer and a lot of sodom’s moonlight
