Cigars and Sublime
The pit is missing though good in all seasons.
The trees overhang, left piss in my yard
Feeling pins & needles from drawing too hard.
The view'd be better if it wasn't electric
Leaves, glad to be back, dancing like Egyptians
Three little birds engaged in conversation
They clapped when they left for their next destination.
A love seat on the pavement, shredded and battered
Holds bones like a sling, I rest my grey matter.
The paper seems to shrink with each breath I take,
wood wet by the lips, the pillar greets the rake.
Ceramic red pistol with dead sniper bullets
Fuzzy nuts scramblin', actin' so foolish
I contemplate, I'm kinda wonderin' if..
Even the best son of a bitch is still just a son of a bitch?
A burgundy Sycamore held up by a fence
Blow smoke out my face, it never reaches my chest.
It's all the same thing: music, wind and feelings
They can be very moving but you can't really see them
Music creates feelings, the wind write songs
The songs move the earth but the earth stands strong
Me with no pad is like a bee with no hive
Sublime is the music, today it's my state of mind.
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