Break the form for a minute. I think you'll find that the images will come to you in fragmentation
You ain't looking at this shit in a pixelated view. This shit is in 4-d to the point that if you tried touching the lyrics, they'd burn your skin and leave you branded. There'd only be initials of the specter who watches over me as I chirp. I'm one of the naive animals singing along with Snow White. Too bad she's singing an ode to every single man who has turned this earth into a perpetual hearse. Drowned in small bits of branches that are still lying astray from the ravage of winter. Spring flowers embroider around them in an effort to get them to conform. The worms slowly biodegrade the refuse of winter. I eat those worms. A second degree murderer in every sense of the term. People hold me in high regard for absolutely no reason. All of this is a regurgitated process but I'm not giving any of it to my children. Instead I keep them close to my breast, afraid that the stench is going to keep anyone from ever getting it. I suppose this has gone on long enough, I'm not a bird, I'm a bear. Sauntering around the hunting grounds with a serene frame of mind. Ragged mug and bearing teeth whenever I get the chance to do so. Hunting grounds are like zoos with an internal exhibit. In a few minutes I'll have a different attitude concerning the nature of hunting grounds. Buckshot shouldn't be used to shoot bears, so why I am bleeding from multiple entry points? I roar. I roar. I roar. I bleed. I bleed. bleed... Birds watch as I run in a frenzy, wondering how I might rid myself of this pain. "Be merciful," I can hear a young lad of 8 yell out to his pa. The man's man father spat out some phlegm and loaded up his rifle, hoping to put me out of my misery. The specter who watches over me is not satisfied so she turned me into wolf. Wolves hunt in packs, but love individually. The others can tell I'm not normal. They treat me like I'm Balto, a fucking coon who can't do anything but help their murderer. But you gotta understand in a past life, I was a bear and they nearly murdered me! Or perhaps they did. I chose fear over revenge. Foolish cub, listen up. I'm the specter who keeps you working./ I'm the one who keeps you going./ A god of sorts, but I'm not loving./ Instead I want to see you keep on tugging/ on the edges of the form, but don't rhyme like me. Instead you need to find us some peace.
Well fuck it. Destiny confirmed. I guess I'll go back to being a bird.
You ain't looking at this shit in a pixelated view. This shit is in 4-d to the point that if you tried touching the lyrics, they'd burn your skin and leave you branded. There'd only be initials of the specter who watches over me as I chirp. I'm one of the naive animals singing along with Snow White. Too bad she's singing an ode to every single man who has turned this earth into a perpetual hearse. Drowned in small bits of branches that are still lying astray from the ravage of winter. Spring flowers embroider around them in an effort to get them to conform. The worms slowly biodegrade the refuse of winter. I eat those worms. A second degree murderer in every sense of the term. People hold me in high regard for absolutely no reason. All of this is a regurgitated process but I'm not giving any of it to my children. Instead I keep them close to my breast, afraid that the stench is going to keep anyone from ever getting it. I suppose this has gone on long enough, I'm not a bird, I'm a bear. Sauntering around the hunting grounds with a serene frame of mind. Ragged mug and bearing teeth whenever I get the chance to do so. Hunting grounds are like zoos with an internal exhibit. In a few minutes I'll have a different attitude concerning the nature of hunting grounds. Buckshot shouldn't be used to shoot bears, so why I am bleeding from multiple entry points? I roar. I roar. I roar. I bleed. I bleed. bleed... Birds watch as I run in a frenzy, wondering how I might rid myself of this pain. "Be merciful," I can hear a young lad of 8 yell out to his pa. The man's man father spat out some phlegm and loaded up his rifle, hoping to put me out of my misery. The specter who watches over me is not satisfied so she turned me into wolf. Wolves hunt in packs, but love individually. The others can tell I'm not normal. They treat me like I'm Balto, a fucking coon who can't do anything but help their murderer. But you gotta understand in a past life, I was a bear and they nearly murdered me! Or perhaps they did. I chose fear over revenge. Foolish cub, listen up. I'm the specter who keeps you working./ I'm the one who keeps you going./ A god of sorts, but I'm not loving./ Instead I want to see you keep on tugging/ on the edges of the form, but don't rhyme like me. Instead you need to find us some peace.
Well fuck it. Destiny confirmed. I guess I'll go back to being a bird.
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