I see my tenderness from afar like the swell that becomes a wave in the ocean.
I see my core as something to pick apart and eventually get bored of.
The lock-box, like Davy Jones' locker, appears to be only hackable with the demise of self.
Goddamn it, the horizon always beckons like Hank's places o'er the hill he's just got to see.
Can I not see? I'm a tear that streaks across the land like a river along Earth's face.
I am a fire burning in the sunken eyes of a haggard, high plains drifter.
My calls fade into the distance and diminish into dust.
Time is the champion. Time is King. Time is the thing.
Shit? Shinola?
Not walking anymore...now I'm floating in a shit gondola.
I Was Drunk At The Pulpit - Bonnie 'Prince' Billie
