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me and the sea, see, we got a real good thing going, i take her to bed, our heads and hearts melt apart and flow together, together we weather what's said and what's low, slow sowing of seeds to be grown...
Onyx clouds clog the arteries. Glass raindrops shower wax men molded in the form of guilt. Idols are sculpted from excrement into the shape of desire. Children birthed in televisions molested by inaudible screams and a thousand stones tied to them with strings of regret plumbing the deep subconscious dreams of the ocean.