Dolls and shells, dolls and shells.
|
Three sheets to the wind, and swollowed by fortunes twisted spells.
|
An empty hand for a lifeless eye glimmer lost and wasted and spent on hallowed stifled ties.
|
I preach to the converting with a tounge less disconcerting
|
and a name pulled forth from ashes scattered when the fruits of our labour hardly mattered.
|
The poor obessions of solanka.
|
Crash meets head in a blur of demons lost and fired fed
|
betting these last inches of rope on a new machine left for dead.
|
Wasting years praying for solanka an uncharted mind embracing spirits of another kind
|
|
-----------------
|
Solanka
|
| Hot Cross |
