Looks like I've established the self-rule that I write freestyle sonnets when I post kudzu'd songs. But don't let that cause you to miss the fact this is one of the most bangingest bangers to ever bang, and it's even better slowed.
Though I'm not guaranteed, there's always tomorrow
for the whole world. But should I not be blessed enough
to make the next sunrise, I hope there's less sorrow
than celebration of full me, stripped down to buff
for the whole world. But should I not be blessed enough
to make the next sunrise, I hope there's less sorrow
than celebration of full me, stripped down to buff
essence. My presence has always been blemished, but
never made claims otherwise, keeping it simple
to the edge of stupid (because I know how). What
point is existing if I can't flash a dimple
never made claims otherwise, keeping it simple
to the edge of stupid (because I know how). What
point is existing if I can't flash a dimple
and chip-toothed smile, freestyling my way through Sunday
afternoons and Thursday mornings alike, striving
to find joy while surviving the doom others lay
out like psychic land mines? Somehow, I'm still driving
afternoons and Thursday mornings alike, striving
to find joy while surviving the doom others lay
out like psychic land mines? Somehow, I'm still driving
this ragged body while drunk off the Universe,
leaning into each day's blessing, without a curse.
leaning into each day's blessing, without a curse.
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