Somedays I sit staring out the window, watching the world pass me by.
Sometimes I think theres nothing to live for,
I almost break down and cry.
But then I see my baby, suddenly Im not crazy.
It all makes sense when I look into her eyes.
If I could sing, Id keep singin this song to my daughter.
If I could hit the notses Id blow something as long as my father.
To show her how proud I am that I got her.
God, Im a daddy, Im so glad her mom didnt.
Now you probably get this picture from my public persona that ima pistol packin drug addict who bags on his momma
But I wanna to just take this time out to be perfectly honest, cuz theres a lot of shit I keep bottled up that hurts deep inside.
I got my baby, baby the only lady that I adore.
So sau
yonara, try tommorrow, nice to know ya.
Our baby s traveled back to the arms of her rightful owner.
And suddenly the weight has been lifted......
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Erupting from a shadowed horizon, a flash of stygian and char, mottled crisply upon the outer layer of a bold phantom. What nightmares were made of; an alysum grit brazen with the dexterious humanities of bittersweet passion and nefariousness. Unexpectant of any immediate of ameliorant, malicious alumna lances forth across the ashen plantation; chizeled maw, etched with stealth-like reformity of Arabic lineage, immediatly searches for the hierarchy. Alma mater located far away, the banshee still wished for return. Though I wouldnt expect a lagniappe this time around. Plyable physique lances forth with undaunting agility, taut muscles acting puppeteer for the mesmorizing vagabond. At last and long awaited, ashen labyrums of the femmora parting with an echo of soprano harpsicord; a mocking, eerie melody shrieking inside flicking radars. She knew, all too well, that her dear mother had come to pass....she knew as well, that one attempted to take her place.
No, baby. Not on my watch.
The angels weaping tears of blood, sweat and flesh, the mesmorizing transparancy lay in grit before the others. Allegorical, mystical, and ever deadly, not the innocent foal that had befallen on them, no. She was different, scarred and broken, battered and lost, but yet she still returned for more....
Dad. Andy. Who's the broad. Juno? Juni? A bit peculiar, pop.
An unspoken snarl crossed the lips of the now nefarious. Shits' been done, lives been shattered, and she had meerely returned to pick up the pieces. It was time to loose the malicia and return to the life of a light. Erecting a reformed maw, the painted translucent speaks again.
DegÜello died, Andy. Perhaps if you had been around, around for me, around for Deggy, around for Juni, our mother....
The words were spit into dust as the angel weeped upon the groud, the lavish winter soaking any drop of salted warmth as the equine blurted in a furious anger and bitter resentment.
She wilted away as a rose. Every day, waiting like a dog for you. A dog awaiting his master at the door, with anxious eyes steadily loosing hope. Is that what you saw us as? Is that how you saw flower, too? A DOG...
The painted mug draws abrupt. Guilt would not solve any problem here. Re-evaluating a long planned speech, the femmora continues with a more placid expression.
Im back now. Im here to stay.
.:A bit of forewarning.:.
.:Ive changed:. |
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