Step on these toes, big papi. Ima take you to the chop-shop of my trunk. Crowbar up them ribs, “And I ain’t never put it there before.” Sticking out in the crowd like a gentrified prune amongst rip grapes. Squashed like a drink to fresh to consume. Alone time, but forever surrounded. Voices. Poison.
Vibrations from wind that whips through with might worth. Leaving to see you later. And a bow. Take a bow. This one for your friends who adore beauty. Beauty in you and everything, this world, ugh! It’s all colliding in the long-con. Hold on to the t-shirt. Or it’s just a bag. Carry-on.
Kai Beckman balancing the yin_yang. One foot on the rail. One foot dangling along the skyline for fate to decide. Skill is beheld by patience. Only risk can temp one into confusion. Coordination and plenty more where that came from. Bedlam Tapes on the stretch:
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