What others think of me, that’s all that matters, God Most High listens, to the inner ramblings of the mind, with the assistance of wisdom, who can read everybody. Bling, flesh, a Brazilian, nice lines, an inner drive, an energy that needs to get out, high octane. Bob Dylan cringes, why can’t I write those words, another screams, wish I could have stole them, words.
The arena is empty, the tour is on hold, the cocaine has to be paid for, no surprise, the big dealers are inn trouble, the market has dried up, and those further up the chain, doing a clean up, no customers to supply, courtesy of the Virus, how Ironic, what is invisible, has such a weighty influence, how strange is that, and the churches closing their doors, what are they doing, to the reputation of God, well, what is faith, amen.
paddypicasso 