A fucking incompetent, and febrile un-fevered from the depth of a bunker-come-take-me all in wood. I don't drink anymore. I don't dream either and I have no envy, I'm not alive. As occupied as a toilet. I don't use drugs anymore. Not substantial ones. Occupied by the invading, I have devastating antibiotics. It is like that, doing a little of everything, it gives much of anything. It stinks incapacity, disability dressed as an ace on his forehead.
It lays eggs in truth-gilded shells painted as skulls. Making ourselves Aztec priests, the jaws stuck in a ridiculously large mask. Disproportionate. Yet we refrain good dream, you invent a contempt for the ostensible utopia to provide a reasonable air, concentrated, intelligent or intelligible. To better puncture the dental caries of resignation, we invented pragmatism, and thinks borrowing dignity despite our pants down on our ankles, buttocks and our grasses are calls for rape. Cut on golden ages that no one has known. We are sellers, workers and psychologists, we are a profession, we like to be defined by the way we are exploited / fucked. Proud as a child who is in his pot for the first time. I never forget this grotesque smile, I see on all sides. we still offer each other gifts, huh. We love each other, we meet with our charge of indifference, there fussing like flies on the shit of a world-corpse we will eventually exploit. I open a mine in your flesh, I am a contractor if I want.
I have a concept, gonna eat market share defilement as a puppy. In the meantime appropriations I do, I go files and I find out about debt relief measures, we know the world is cruel with genius. On the size of lords in this world of cockroaches. I reigns on beetles-sir. Ties or wings, it's being the right side of the class struggle. Because the fight is class. As much as a T-Shirt Stalin in a congress of the MEDEF. Class as a badge "Fuck me I'm Maurice Papon" in a congressional of the Revolutionary Communist League. It is a concept, dropped I say, you're really not equipped to talk with me. I'll get my face beaten just to receive justice charges. We survive as we can, most malign are repeating the teeth to resell their jaws price of gold, even eat soup of caviar until the end of the world. We will call it insecurity, I will have a bureau with my name in the offices of SkyNews, I'll be familiar with the receptionist, and I will sell here the name of the winner of the next real TV show before you have time to see the commentator's face. Whore of a martyr is going to bleed to the brain to redeem your sins, on the steps of temples to break the audience "with teeth". Deeply war, the real, in the meantime, how bugged we are. This is the crisis.
It lays eggs in truth-gilded shells painted as skulls. Making ourselves Aztec priests, the jaws stuck in a ridiculously large mask. Disproportionate. Yet we refrain good dream, you invent a contempt for the ostensible utopia to provide a reasonable air, concentrated, intelligent or intelligible. To better puncture the dental caries of resignation, we invented pragmatism, and thinks borrowing dignity despite our pants down on our ankles, buttocks and our grasses are calls for rape. Cut on golden ages that no one has known. We are sellers, workers and psychologists, we are a profession, we like to be defined by the way we are exploited / fucked. Proud as a child who is in his pot for the first time. I never forget this grotesque smile, I see on all sides. we still offer each other gifts, huh. We love each other, we meet with our charge of indifference, there fussing like flies on the shit of a world-corpse we will eventually exploit. I open a mine in your flesh, I am a contractor if I want.
I have a concept, gonna eat market share defilement as a puppy. In the meantime appropriations I do, I go files and I find out about debt relief measures, we know the world is cruel with genius. On the size of lords in this world of cockroaches. I reigns on beetles-sir. Ties or wings, it's being the right side of the class struggle. Because the fight is class. As much as a T-Shirt Stalin in a congress of the MEDEF. Class as a badge "Fuck me I'm Maurice Papon" in a congressional of the Revolutionary Communist League. It is a concept, dropped I say, you're really not equipped to talk with me. I'll get my face beaten just to receive justice charges. We survive as we can, most malign are repeating the teeth to resell their jaws price of gold, even eat soup of caviar until the end of the world. We will call it insecurity, I will have a bureau with my name in the offices of SkyNews, I'll be familiar with the receptionist, and I will sell here the name of the winner of the next real TV show before you have time to see the commentator's face. Whore of a martyr is going to bleed to the brain to redeem your sins, on the steps of temples to break the audience "with teeth". Deeply war, the real, in the meantime, how bugged we are. This is the crisis.
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