You're Ever My Erotic

Its 12:34 P.M. and I'm peeing razors again in a McKinney Jack-in-the-Box. I walk out to collect my "food" when I overhear one teen-aged boy say to another teen-aged boy, "I think pregnant women are beautiful." Now I'm back in the rainy day traffic of a funeral procession and not giving a fuck for the living people etiquette for dead people situations, when I'm thinking about this and that and the call of the wild and the nature of the beast. Stop, My Child, and get a listen:

Can you even find some damn peace anymore, Criminal?

A place where people can't touch you, Freestyle?

Have you even noticed at all?

Did you pack and throw even one snowball?

Did you feel the sweltering heat of the summer and take a swim in a pool, an ocean, or other?

No, you live in an air-conditioned nightmare; television will make your eyes lose their resolution unless you were born that way or just growed that way but anyway! turn it off one time before you die because there are greater things, like those first cries that turn back tides. We may not get long and so I think every single moon should bear witness to conjugal congress and co-it-us. So, who's world is this?

This is your world.
This is your world.
This is your world.

And mine. I'm just here to lace they tennis shoes and take away they puppies.