finger beasts pull my hair, and likely as it may be, i choose nothing over the stoppage of pain. what lingers in the orifice of silence that is so entitling to the nobler classes of man? and if that answer forth comes, where would the knowledge lead us? finger beasts pull my hair, and i smoke from lyrics to ease the dissolutions of too many minutes passing. i have an ambient definition of interpretation, and that, my dear, is a ghost of its own in a certain unconventional sense. finger beasts pull my hair, and i wish that mother nature had made neon so that i had no guilt when it beautifies me. mountains are as majestic as carnivores. and if everything is to succumb to time... what offers do our trivialities put forward? a comedian in a prophet’s mask is the mark of a jester’s court. that the joke become a king is a wish erupted from the mind of the profited individual. written by the winners, our knowledge is a bone spur in the heel. a myth of endings. finger beasts pull my hair, and i gather glass from the minutes given me, lingering in the prosaic disconnection that allows for hope.Birth sign: Cancer
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