Flowers

He’s got flowers on his forehead

The flowers flourishing, breathing, dying, withering

And he doesn’t care much ‘bout… oh he doesn’t care much ‘bout oh oh...he doesn’t care much ‘bout love that smoke feels when he drags it in

He’s got one pocket filled with lust oh oh

The second has got red Marlboro, lighter and dust

And you can’t help but feel the nauseating enticement

This obnoxious voice breaks the plates of silence in empty apartment oh oh oh Whooa oh oh oh whoooa

Oh Seeds have been planted in your mind

That one day will have been disrooted and fruit will be harvested

Consciousness all fed up

Fear will ripen and deepen the pain down which one day will

Turn into numb broken cry

Will be someone’s loud, eerie sigh

Will smudge all the faces you know oh oh

Will kite over places you saw

Will go through all phases of anguish and bliss oh oh oh

Down the memory lane into bottomless leak

And the sewage of rain will wash down the fault oh oh oh

You might have felt and might have not… ‘cause

He’s got flowers on his forehead oh oh

The flowers talking to you on the days it hurts and the days it don’t It don’t oh oh oh it don’t oh oh oh it don’t oh oh oh

Oh Radiating oh substance that causes “feeling something” works

Essence of life is overrated at times oh

Squeezing out a poisonous juice of one’s sick perception

I spread it over my perspective and, and chew chew chew and chew and chew chew and chew and chew and chew chew and chew

Oh soft spirit it gets penetrated as as lenient bruises mildly emerge all over the spaces over the spaces over the spaces oh over