Forgetting that formaldehyde is forming fast and right outside Sunday Mass
We must travel on.
Submitting to manmade lies and conforming with morals crude and crass, now they say die
We must travel on.
Repenting under punishment by smoke and black, the drums beat on, a spirit screaming songs of bitter teeth as demons weep
We must travel on.
We scream under the sun.
Death is change so know that words are strange, innacurate, often obscured by greedy desire of entities of many sort, as they piss out vast amounts of fear. This fear is also known as… Misunderstanding
And we travel on.
Let’s hang out with the moon.
For all lives are soon imbued with hate so prude, diluded by change and wicked ways just to betray the love we knew in years of youth and found only in a chemical induced abuse of reality, it’s all a fallacy, or so we’re told…
But who am I to demand my truth? A bloody scene or so it seems as we gleam with vagrant means, who will we see when all life cease?
Let’s tune in to imperfections, as we travel on…
I shant profess the blackened mess although I can attest to it as long as I am next to it. This tastes nothing like it should, and all but how it looks, it tastes like dirt and not a bit of skunk squirt do I find when it kicks in. A shadow in the forest said he was my friend, and offered unto me a pipe with demons and a one week psycho visit, I should have seen it or at least predicted.
I must travel on, to places I’ve forgot, to face the wicked sort and smoke my ear of corn. Years of scorn and flashback visions, a punishment straight from the heavens, crucified for choosing life and giving in to one natural thing. Hunger, the all encompassing drive to drive. There is no other reason. It may not be yours, and it may not be mine, his, hers or even time’s. And it may be only a matter of existence. Now know, no way is there any other reason. For psychedelic visions.
We must travel on.


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