Climb the highest mountain, punch the face of god

Throw it in the ditch and light it on fire, after all, it's only words

Manic fingers,
Drenched in sweat
From panic
Do race the pen
Across the lined
Paper in hopes of
Stumbling upon
Some dried up
Fountain of youth,
But finding only
An aging puddle
Of p!ss and tears,
Growing smaller
And growing larger
By each day,
But mainly growing
And almost without
Any mild reason.

May 30, 2006
Suge


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Throw it in the ditch and light it on fire, after all, it`s only words

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