We go to the arcade to get our fill. Random images of simulated passion, brain candy for morbid self-attention. Nothin doin tonight. Everybody's got a price but no supply. He sells dreams for a dollar, he'll let you use his pipe. She sells scenes... you can feel what you can't touch.
At the pawn shop, where everyday we sell our dreams but pledge... We congregate, seeking shelter. We give up food and water and in place trade favors. We're not looking to be saved, but possessed. We hide our souls; we follow our nose to the source of our obsession. We never question anymore, but find the answer in that mushroom cloud of smoke. It's odorless, but we stink.
About Me
- Eatkhash
- look at how much mileage you guys are gettring with my perversions and sadness, my mind's a goldmine. No, you freakin hobo, I'm not hearing voices—they are trying to communicate with me through youtube, and websightes, and naughty ones, im not too sure what to do when i get riled up huah hauh hauh hauh hauh hauh hauh hahuh ahuh hauh hauh hauh hauh ahuh hahuh hauh hauh hauh hahuh
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