Dead silence in the room, a disbelief in everything yet awe of greens. Perhaps it was words, maybe the screams of anguish through an inward mentality, why they said. Despite a "Jude" mentality, the show goes on.
The furious elegance that is westward in the microscope of your piers, fuck'em. Nine tales of the won't, few of the go. I rack the kinship for brief moments as the aristocratic knight's ceremony plays on, just as the show goes on.
Turning unfathomable fantasy into anarchic art form exists in realms of reality and real anarchy. Only for me tho...for me. And yet the show goes on.
Weeping for the ibis to make me known, in my eye. I miss the window where the sunshine beams and the air blew my point...Across the threshold that is getting out our dreams. You know what that means, alas the show goes on.
Mr. P
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