i’m sorry for suggesting
i’m reading the whitewhashed faces
i could use a connection
i’m watching the whitewashed faces
on a good night sent spinning
knows to play it winning
strawberry red twizzlers
i wanna know what’s with her
in the sun lie pale lovers
drink slow and slowly
over each of us in our turn sat in line
and stuck to burn
she shines like a carnival
swimming through my book of dreams
all i know is all you’ve learned
is all i want to be
you’re right i’m left you’re right
in the morning goldfish dead in a bowl
everybody is up on a pulpit all alone
this is your word of stone
where were you when rome was burning?
who wants points well it’s not worth it
i’m trying hard to answer the letter
always a writer between the weather