And so my soul collapsed into the big guilt-wad, some big thunder-law forces me to eat shit and if I was a word, could my letters number 1000? more likely coarse and gutteral, one syllable-anglo saxon. I'm a victim of a fact, let's say I loved a girl but the world was wrong and I was made to march in line. finally, I felt like handcuffs, machines disregard my pronouns, I am defeated-I am the cold, damp clay
Writer(s): Mike Watt
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