smack my bitch up, sleep dont weep.

Sea-legged qualms and rotten butterflies in my gulliver. You’ve ignited my thoughts but ignore to tend to the flame. So I lie here, flopped here, wasted here,
socked and smouldering in ruins of dust and shadow.

(yiz palms are sweaty, absence of moms spasghetti).

Would like to put a jar over it all, of it, covered.
'Til the last breath is no more, spent.

So you’ll put a scarf around my neck
and call it a day.
And I’ll be here as usual sweeping up the ashes.
So I guess I’m gonna have to call it a day.