11-09-2021, 06:18 AM
Down, where the moon
spins softly, my scrawl
tastes the white doom
deep inside where I crawl.
Into its winter perfection
I toss an army of flaws
hunters made of rejection
riding the range, outlaws
where white laws rule.
Our hearts may be black
but your brain is the tool
that carves us out of lack.
spins softly, my scrawl
tastes the white doom
deep inside where I crawl.
Into its winter perfection
I toss an army of flaws
hunters made of rejection
riding the range, outlaws
where white laws rule.
Our hearts may be black
but your brain is the tool
that carves us out of lack.