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John Maus
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My eyes, they swell like pregnant breasts When the sun stirs me from my gentle rest My skin, it smells like black sick meat And when I wake it wears like woolly putty To die a rotting smelly sack of silly flesh that looks like sickness With yellow jackets pecking at my mumps disease And from my mouth my tongue is hanging Like a starving cord of nerves Ooh ooh ooh ooh Ooh ooh ooh ooh I would be happy mired in bacterial death Wheezing in the ejaculation like a lion after feasting Yes, I would be happy Oh, if only I could shoot the sun through the navel And pull its guts right through it with an anchor Sleep hibernates the juices, and the starches, and the organs While wild prostitutes gallop in the fire pits Of my head Beating drums and shooting stars Out of the mouths My eyes, they swell like pregnant breasts When the sun stirs me from my gentle rest My skin, it smells like black sick meat To die a rotting smelly sack of meat
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Ton pseudo sera publié. Laisses les champs vide pour rester anonyme.
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