Galloping Mind Fuk

Idle day

Fields astray

Queuing up in line to stay

And there’s no doubt

The main will fill up

When we get it way out

Here it goes

But no one march along

The beat, it lands awkwardly

Randomly

The pitch is falling way out

Still repair

Find time

Believe but don’t mind

To find your tongue is tied

On your back again

Way out

Viscous thoughts

Dank and hot

Spit sure shot your way

Blistered lips

Tongue wagging

Tough habit to break

Gallup on

This mind fuk that is our substrate

Trust the taste

Share the space

Face this fumble with grace

All allowed

Aloud