11900
U don’t have what I am embodied for steward,
The green of our contact that goes into moolah,
Suffering the bumps and bruises of our continuous,
Empathizing my size with that of the indigenous,
Watching the earth open the calf,
Seating the position in resemblance of staff,
It is a sickness we wait like we are married,
Using up creation bordered by staring,
It is that one day U give to someone else,
And it is that one day U change how U felt,
If only in the beginning U were as honest as U are now,
Then it wouldn’t be such a sell of a slave and a plow,
For the clouds U rest upon blowing away,
And the men U seek as the break time fades,
What is us if not all is fare,
The sex U make contact when green is there,
Enough of the monsters threat to kill,
Coming to America in strobes of feel,
I hate to see your body take so much damage,
Moderated by early coats of savage,
It is in your nature that U feel the dust,
And it is in your spirit that U feel U must,
Get back with the program that sent them out,
Asleep in your passion high in the clouds.
