{Friday 1st June}
Tomorrow, definable, today. With its parade, its pestilence
and more besides, collides, derides, confides because you know it’s to blame
for all the sorrow, tomorrow to follow the ghost of the morrow and deny, supply
and sprinkle salt delicately in Satan’s eye, hole, soul, fleeting, bleating,
lost and concussed amongst the shards of his in eloquence, his excellence, sees
more, among the scattered seeds; the ones man says will never amount to
anything and you know, it’s okay, it really is okay to say that I know the saviour
and he confides in me, soft whisper, soft whisper, and tells me everything I’ve
ever know, and you're doing fine, you're doing fine. And also burn religion
burn.
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