we are the brand new beatniks. we are the down and outers.
we are the bleeding hearts, beating syncopated, broken rhythm.
our speed is often break neck. we need to slow it down.
tired of being sleepless. tired of being broken.
we are the brand new beatniks. we are the down and outers.
we are the bleeding hearts, beating syncopated, broken rhythm.
our speed is often break neck. we need to slow it down.
tired of being sleepless. tired of being broken.
we are the brand new beatniks. we are the down and outers.
we are the bleeding hearts, beating syncopated, broken rhythm.
our speed is often break neck. we need to slow it down.
tired of being sleepless. tired of being broken.
Hah. You're not gonna have a picture of Al on here. And I am pretty sure his name isn't Alan. Just to let ya know.
I faced death. I went in with my arms swinging. But I heard my own breath and had to face that I'm still living. I'm still flesh. I hold on to awful feelings. I'm not dead... My chest still draws breath. I hold it. I'm buoyant. There's no end.
I've been here for quite a while and I still don't know what Al looks like.
!EMiLY!
sweet blasphemy my giving tree
it hasn't rained in years
i bring to you this sacrificial offering of virgin ears
leave it to me i remain free from all the comforts of home
and where that is i'm pleased as piss to say
i'll never really know
