1800
Chariots of the motion picture,
In the parking lot of a lot of figures,
Walking to the space of sound that surrenders,
Behind the store as her body quivers,
Along the lines of blood curling in colors,
The chalkline of pedestrians hovering the puddles,
My space a facebook returned by so many,
Headless torsos broke out from pennies,
The fat lights project the strain of the walls,
The voice of heads circumference the falls,
As bodies intertwined in the funkiest of ales,
Marching to the spring of the siren bells,
E.M.S. workers scheduled in route to the house,
Less a man knoweth the fade from their mouth,
Grass that is separate from the mountain of dew,
Street lovers eat the desperate they want to,
Living in orders for the alert of the storm,
Expanding the skin from the body that is warm,
Sheet music limited to what you can say,
A future that is juice if u have it your way.
