dry rim low jig
the more thinks: stay
the more, they
stay
the same dream
comes doomsday
the vice
in a hotelroom
with a park pad
lock of hair
i am trying hard
the story
the world
but a friend
sings: attune
and i remember
in the morning
the song that
my mutter
thinks
every thing
things
realising
that what
eye think
"ears" written
on
the outside of
everyone's
eyes
seeing together
everything
except
me