Pena, her little head clinking Like a barrel of red velvet balls Full past noise Treats filled her eyes
Turning them yellow like enamel coated tacks Soft like butter, hard not to pour Out enjoying the sun While sitting on a turned on waffle iron
Smoke billowing up from between her legs Made me vomit beautifully And crush a chandelier
Fall on my stomach an' view her From a thousand happened facets Liquid red salt ran over crystals I later band aided the area Sighed, oh well, it was worth it
Pena pleased but sore from sitting Choose to stub her toe An' view the white pulps Horribly large in their red pockets "I'm tired of playing baby", she explained
An' out of, uh, blue felt box let escape One yellow butterfly the same size Its dropping were tiny green phosphorous worms That moved in tuck an' rolls that clacked An' whispered in their confinement
Three little burnt scotch taped windows Several yards away Mouths open to tongues that vibrated An' lost saliva Pena exclaimed, "That's the raspberries"Teksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
