Niche
They place us in their world they squeeze us inn to benefit themselves
They chop the rhymes to fit the ego and the id they make us into them the early warning motion blowing portents out of time again the lime the lemon the fruit of all the women
There is a smell a old bone makes when it is dry and bleached in sun it smells like Heaven come. They cause me pain with the ignorance of knowledge learned. He is just an old man another one to love. They sewed my past to their own future happiness they left me laying in the niche. They made me round.
