You want charcoal filters
I'm coal fire distilled.
The afternoon of our lives is yet to happen.
I demand freedom
You are attempting to prescribe it.
Control is a funny thing:
I appear completely within
you want to be without.
I wonder who knows who better - I wonder who knows how to be out of control?
Who is in control? When does this end, if ever?
The month of Sundays is nearly over seven times whatever you want.
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2 comments:
Yet another sign of the apocalypse - mixed metaphors and bad math.
indeed, the signs are all around us. the apocalypse happens everyday. for somebody.
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