Thoughts on Bus 221

Verborragic behaviors of oysters and kings
The ones we don't think our values can meet
For all months they be gone later or now
No freedom can hang them up to your wall

Creative sentiments are the thorns we must wear
To be the one, the savior of sons we’re not to have
Have tell told you what you're supposed to know?
For I guarantee man, for my part I never been told
So, is this finally my one true role?

Sham it is hidden behind a desk
Crimson days of gray skies we want to forget.
These times being lost not being me.

The spirit of our times they want know
Jesters and flames and no delays
All we go through is God’s jolly good joke
So it’s about time you get used

For rests and forests running down the fields
Thompson guns ablaze on top of the hills
Aiming satisfied, and I won't keep quiet
Till I run put of breath and my mind tells me I'm good.

Spitting out words, for folly for hurt
Story’s been gone a long time
For every begun, there is a done one
And my breath it is run, but couldn’t yet spell out my mind.

Underground way bound is the phony of tales.
Morning erupting to high lining veils
Of tempest a vision the set it is sun
Dancing around the maypole one

Rejecting all figments at towering costs
Hardly and posing what reasons are tossed
Crying and dying and lying around
Fires and passion are dead underground

Simmering love songs don’t get you okay.
Quit mumbling go stumbling your words on the way
No sense it has made no sense it will do
Forever one figures untruths out of blue

And I who have never and never have known
Am the prophet of our undefined roles
The days they are strange them boys will be girls
Them hearts will be thorn by whoever will
It's public come grab, take all with your hand
And make sense of what I just can't understand.

And the story’s been spit, for folly for hurt,
And words they been gone a long time
For every begun, there is a done one
My breath it is run, but I couldn't yet throw up my mind.

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