What if we rabbit-on and cause collisions to matter in-fact. And what if we doom ourselves to death and delicately DanCe? What’s the point of pushing momentum until it’s taken us all away to
Utter self-delirium but for This Truly Precious Game of Prey-PRETEND. She’s sizing-up the opposition and breaking her own rules to carefully sit atop a stool of cordial awareness.
They don’t play games —GOOD GAWWWD— with their cello-tape heads for just no reason. They’ve inclined themselves towards utter distorted rations of radicalness and .. pushed paused attitudes for FAR TOO LONG anyway. It’s this lingering resentment of a pointless propaganda that happens inside of mesmerised minds.
“We want to see the state of perfect idiocy, especially when it starts to make — aforesaid mesmerised sense.”
