..
groove the mons
croon for sin and do no harm do it right and kick it straight to the heathen twilight
cheat on the men and like to feel great grandeur feel the black gloomy faith
bringing you to death bringing you shrinking to something petit
skelter to the shelter which might be what your longing like to seek endlessly
grove the windrobe quit to make a roke between you and the randomed leveled people
lick the thoughts with your words making it wild and solid to face the boy cutting your poor searching fate
heat the fire in body and soul loose the way donnot crack the fiction not for probity
not to beat the bones against the wall