the existence of "something that it is like" to be something

craving for longing, a guy who never admits he's lost other people's reality when they trusted him more... he was out of a multitude of systems long before he had any idea how to build his own... he took hammers and put them to work... and they crumbled longing and spread the sound of dissoluteness in his creepin' motivation... i lost you there... you said happiness in slavery... i said not even as much as bread and butter... it's just an indefinite romance with a whirlwind of crime, of bleeding craving... i said longing before... you said i couldn’t hate you...

i'd break myself off... i put passion in the expelling of my air... i put passion into a squirming desire to have you like you did... or everybody else... they can't see what i want… i don't break my desires by fulfilness... disappointment can't last long but it can become...

i lost you back... the image called to the belonger... come down through...

there's always someone i find myself in... it's always me you said… too much already... new york on the leaving hour... it gets cheesy but i still wouldn't trade... my imagination falls on those hammers, it builds them up... it's like smashing pumpkins on a six transistor... it's like i'm in you both and you have me missing out on you... i called you off since i took oana and my nonchalance away... got them rolling down those stairs and you felt hope and i missed you... i missed you so much... i never gave up...

mercury... that's what your voice rang like... then this fat lady with my blinding blue strap-ons covered you in her delight... enthralling... my head went left and right and up and down... there was this white shirt on you covered in a pink top and wrapped in a ckeckered beige irish stone wall... my hammers i called upon, but there was no piano to touch, no high tide to billow and i went into convulsions...

there's this galaxy in my ear right now... woosh-weesh whirling side-effect... strange cuz i'm diggin' this beat... it has your fate in it... it's got your face in it... i see your palm... and look you said... then i taught my hand to touch it...

and it's 2.09, luke... naturaletea ta ma face sa cred ca nu esti doar intr-un rol cu mine...

essentially, what is wrong with these beats... i never expect storylines or mozart to flout so devastatingly... make me say i'll never be, but could be different... i couldn't be so much... and strange seems to be recurring like drab these instants... it doesn't have to be like that, you said... different systems want more of you... opposites don't occur much these days... i guess this highway to bethlehem doesn't take sky-scrapers along...

i still feared new york was all about leaving...
someday easy... sunday? busy, you said...