I am the quarter horse spoken softly to the glue truck
Sacrificing normality for incidentals and legalities
My life is a field of endless standbys who are contorted to extrude fake smiles
I could play the real deal and hand out outburst in similar fashion
But it wouldn't be conducive to the meaning of where I stand today
We question direction in various insolent and beleaguered tones
Asking if destiny was a horny bitch for these 9 inches to be digested
Not knowing she is infected with spite and fate posing as triple D breast
Milking the situation to the point that retrobuted action are lethargic from lactic acid
Now who is the shit?
So now I craft war against the inner child yearning for split peas soup
Falling in the greenery that was suppose to be progress
Don't know who cultivated the ingredients but I'm dependent
Letting these questions stack ramparts on my shore
Tethering cannonballs to cave the slightest idea that improvement is attainable
Smoking out the ferry to carry the toll to the collection plate that God stash in back pocket wallets
Fathering dementia when the glue truck stops for more feet to process
Wondering if there are any traces of milk on the floor.....
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