they say that thirteen is just a number
a double agent
widows an antique replacement
a briefcase filled with mace
widows six legged
Valmara, Valmara, Valmara,
Flechettes kiss me with the lisp
Of your shrapnel
well it's hit or miss upon the gate walls
are the
sucks me in, taking a ride
and i'm wishing for the
In a small ghost town, there's a little arcade
Where the
this is the accent of the halfhearted land
does it all
cut and paste
were you sitting down
on the beaded impotence of
in the humble stence of nativity
hummed the smell of television
nothing ever changes
except your scenery arrangements
in the affectionate hand
pet sounds filling pet peeve voids
black and white t.v. with