Not to elaborate on a thrill

But to teach the monotonous silhouette of morals that it does not matter, that all gates open on 
one witness who is the same witnessand the grapes beg you to eat them before they rot in the
symmetry of obediencein their distracted beauty which turns into the part of you opening
somelogo  windowImma paint my faceimma paint myselfthe  salt in the way  
could light up a roomthe song on the radio   could  bloom  into  daddy

Shine on them hoes™