Occurrence I: French: "A toi, rejoins moi dans l'abyss, nous écrirons des sonnettes pour les jeunes chèvres noires. A eux, jai vu au travers vous dès la première rencontre, vous gardant proche pour observer la trajectoire de vos pensées. Allez vous faire foutre. À la chose, que ton extérieur brûle aussi vivement que l'interieur. À moi, je t'ai suffisamment aimé, il est maintenant temps de quitter serenement. À l'amour, j'accueil toutes tes facettes; même tes querelles. Aux néant, je cherche a t'imiter." English: "To you, join me in the abyss; we'll write sonnets for baby black goats. To them, I figured you out at hello, & kept you around to bet with friends about where your head would go. Go flush yourself. To it, I say burn externally as much as in. To me, I loved you enough, and now it's time for you to leave comfortably. To love, I welcome you with each facet of strife. To nothing, I seek to be like." Verse: Joy slaughtered with the thought of obscure otters, that gang named after a private mammal, on a mantle looking on for a planter, the darkest seeds fiend for winter, enriched treachery that be. But who we? I'm the narrator of the breeze, and you are the one with the cloak, and there's New Oats, who shivered at the sign of a black goat, Baaa humming bugs and birds, the atmospheric temperature created ash for urns. Sonnet misers linger at a door of Vesuvius, looking for a groove to maneuver in, and Nothing dreams of the weak, I can show how much they all lose sleep next to the sandman thief. Daphne grieved in the shadows of marrow, and pissed in the narrow fields of Ashwits for a kind fellow. The stars shatter at this manifest, and resurrect from silicon chests, the window lets a breeze in for the cold fetish beings to collect, and yet its limit will create depth, it's like digging for oil on drill proof grass, Daphne's soft feet brushed a path for her sweet ass to slide, with that each focal point created a way to glide to a different side. Joy finds a target as worlds collide. Elevating misers are comfortable now enough to ring a doorbell. But do they mean well? A force to be wrecked is the shell of itself. Self loathing takes your breath away and thus there's no pressure to hate yourself, right? So in that setting who would ask for more life? A narcissist perhaps? An egomaniac? We can go in circles until the time elapses, in a tantrum of divinity steps. The week may repeat until Untimely's death. Occurrence II: Chorus: Stanza, stanza, the light, delighted, your magnum opus came alive with, blood, bones & traffic cones, stop the races, snatch the faces. Stanza, stanza, the light, delighted, your magnum opus came alive with, blood, bones & traffic cones, stop the races, snatch the faces. Itchy glitchy palms, standard politics, love it, Itchy glitchy palms, standard politics, hate it, Itchy glitchy palms, standard politics, fuck it, Itchy glitchy palms, standard politics, kill it. Stanza, stanza, the light, delighted, your magnum opus came alive with, blood, bones & traffic cones, stop the races, snatch the faces. Stanza, stanza, the light, delighted, your magnum opus came alive with, blood, bones & traffic cones, stop the races, snatch the faces. Verse: Daphne, please bitch, enter the vortex focused, for your friends in the alternative, the moat is open, so shall you grow with an outpour, of ravaging flow. What a menace through concrete with four feet is your mother with a green thumb ring. So what song did you sing to avoid her? Your journey is long and so is her bong. So how would you ignore her? Green must dead, she says to herself, as you look at a different you accumulate wealth. Help your health, help your health, yet stretch the reality belt. La La is the tune for the annoyed, and thus it rang throughout the adolescent void. Chorus: Stanza, stanza, the light, delighted, your magnum opus came alive with, blood, bones & traffic cones, stop the races, snatch the faces. Stanza, stanza, the light, delighted, your magnum opus came alive with, blood, bones & traffic cones, stop the races, snatch the faces. Itchy glitchy palms, standard politics, love it, Itchy glitchy palms, standard politics, hate it, Itchy glitchy palms, standard politics, fuck it, Itchy glitchy palms, standard politics, kill it. Stanza, stanza, the light, delighted, your magnum opus came alive with, blood, bones & traffic cones, stop the races, snatch the faces. Stanza, stanza, the light, delighted, your magnum opus came alive with, blood, bones & traffic cones, stop the races, snatch the faces. Chorus: Stanza, stanza, the light, delighted, your magnum opus came alive with, blood, bones & traffic cones, stop the races, snatch the faces. Stanza, stanza, the light, delighted, your magnum opus came alive with, blood, bones & traffic cones, stop the races, snatch the faces. Itchy glitchy palms, standard politics, love it, Itchy glitchy palms, standard politics, hate it, Itchy glitchy palms, standard politics, fuck it, Itchy glitchy palms, standard politics, kill it.

Chrous: Dancing, on, the roof. Dancing, on, the roof. She is, tapping for sight of mining. She is, tapping for need for climbing. Dancing, on, the roof. Dancing, on, the roof. He is, reading her love for dreaming. He is, staring so hard, he's scheming. Verse: A keloid lookin' cupola harbors a young lady as she admires wildflowers. She places her wishes into every move as if the Goddess of dance would stop being vain just to grant a random vagina a gift. Rubber grips on her soles, as she glitters in ethnic history. The food for thought is, she isn't for mystery men like every other hen with the skills she performs & spin. With a flavorless grin, her modicum of respect continues to slip and at the same time slowly shatter away. A hard worker is what is wanted, what is wished for, what she steps & steps for. Some would say she wants a monarchist the way she stands up there stomping. Bratty in nature perhaps? He sits there getting off to her surrealist penmanship, and yet thinking of a way to tame her, a way to ravage yet keep her intact enough to recreate the motion of his depicted ocean. He wants her to ride the wave that he creates & thinks about on sofas. What a green finger guy, growing potatoes with his somewhat lack of drive.

Chorus: Fuck wit my clique, go bye bye, fuck wit my dick, bitch take it, fuck wit my clip, just eat it, fuck with my time, we fly by. Fuck wit my clique, go bye bye, fuck wit my dick, bitch take it, fuck wit my clip, just eat it, fuck with my time, we fly by. Fuck wit my clique, go bye bye, fuck wit my dick, bitch take it, fuck wit my clip, just eat it, fuck with my time, we fly by. Fuck wit my clique, go bye bye, fuck wit my dick, bitch take it, fuck wit my clip, just eat it, fuck with my time, we fly by. Verse: A blood eagle for everyone with big tongues & little guns; you shoot first? You better do your best, on the life or death test. Miss & you'll end up with foggy memories until you're dead in your inherent looped 40s. Groovy is the way of the wise. I shook two trees on my way to rape a bitch who wanted it. I flicked two beans, deformed vagina was the best. I saw baby boomers fucking on my journey of caress, & a few bitches posting selfies while their baby is crying in a shady background. I entered a town with my guns drawn, all long, I'm wide, I covered enough ground to be Ripdae La Wise. If I was hanging from a tree I'll be the one with perverted nigger eyes, yeah, I'm great, I sealed my own fate in the face of gold adversity plates. Verse: Masquerade party down below, & the cellar is open, woken up on a tick & tock, she went to lock up, her rich wine storage was locked & opened by love. Her spouse at that time was the party host, & creeping inside was his mother's favorite ghost. Hand me the alcohol, pour me a glass, before I break the fourth wall, right up your ass. See, I'm no bad guy, I'm the one with hugs, I'll squeeze up your daughter just to see her blood. Little kids lurked at the start of the stairs, they chose to bright glare, superior complex, & of course dead does not mean atop of the pyramid. He never heard a pig squeal in person until his father nursed him. "What a soft Yankee" said the boogie in one bed over, as he hovered, looking at his meth with the eyes of Jehovah. Creaky awesome floors with the souls attached, we'll walk on these when we collapse.

Galvanizations trigger mass incarcerations of self inflicted style, the pain of woeful men is an ingredient in many meals within restaurants that serve up tragedy. I pick apart my flesh and eat it sometimes during moments of direst. Why? Because at times just pinching myself is the equivalent of trying to wake a sleeping beauty with lullabies. We are here but with that philosophical crap aside I am near, near to you my dears who fluctuate through different levels of fear. I partake within the irrational to create rational interpretations or absurdist notions, and whatever else. I met many Gods at the Bible Belt Motel. They all sat in permanent glee, as their foundation sat atop a slow forwarding case of sand that contained a blurry panoramic view, and within that shock existed in response to everything new.

Chorus: Fuck wit my clique, go bye bye, fuck wit my dick, bitch take it, fuck wit my clip, just eat it, fuck with my time, we fly by. Fuck wit my clique, go bye bye, fuck wit my dick, bitch take it, fuck wit my clip, just eat it, fuck with my time, we fly by. Wowe, uowe, uowe, ou. Wowe, uowe, uowe, ou. Fuck wit my clique, go bye bye, fuck wit my dick, bitch take it, fuck wit my clip, just eat it, fuck with my time, we fly by. Fuck wit my clique, go bye bye, fuck wit my dick, bitch take it, fuck wit my clip, just eat it, fuck with my time, we fly by. Verse: Cold from the perimeter, I'm counting every miss, so many bricks for every court side fiend mistress, or a field digger with their eyes on fictional bliss, whatever that is, they keep in touch with those reality fibs. Boom bap at a door of locomotive drivers, the train has been active since a metaphorical December. Hot rails at the surface, are hard to grip for self proclaimed non-prima-donnas, inflation inflation, balloon shaped souls, almost blob like glittered in gold. Verse: Old glitches appear with want to connect to the little chill splinters, of course winter created bricks with splinters, targeted summer bliss at the point of a certain gist. Under a tree they kissed, as the world missed Mr & Mrs just to jerk it to pseudo-chaotic men. But to be human means to hope for bones instead of pens holding you together until a quick end. Loco logos cover the walls of the queasy hot head foes & meanies, inflation inflation, balloon shaped souls, almost blob like glittered in gold. Chorus: Fuck wit my clique, go bye bye, fuck wit my dick, bitch take it, fuck wit my clip, just eat it, fuck with my time, we fly by. Fuck wit my clique, go bye bye, fuck wit my dick, bitch take it, fuck wit my clip, just eat it, fuck with my time, we fly by. Wowe, uowe, uowe, ou. Wowe, uowe, uowe, ou. Fuck wit my clique, go bye bye, fuck wit my dick, bitch take it, fuck wit my clip, just eat it, fuck with my time, we fly by. Fuck wit my clique, go bye bye, fuck wit my dick, bitch take it, fuck wit my clip, just eat it, fuck with my time, we fly by.

Lots of go̸o̸d arms deals; victims got some sweet vengeance. But lets talk of how evil that bi$ is until "it" kills imperialists.