Sizzla singing, disk of light on the ground, running to the cerimony, me and my sister, to the hills of lions, and stones, out of the traffic; it all make sense, enslaving master, your eyes are filling the sky and i fill them with compasion that'll never dry; understanding creeps in the darkness, of dreams, awake in the jungle spirits without face protecting their territories with screams, chaikosvki, down the steps, makes me forget; i found a seed of annihilation in my pockets, it grows lianas to the sky, umbarable cold.
Monday, February 19, 2007
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