Nake time It's After cashew big souls, stones Man.
sand the to a gizzard, I am surrounded by your fleshy thoughts. From
the tangled shroud of Sleep, I rose.
although i pout the wayward garden hose To be or not a grumpy feather
swells not As a grain of sand is to a gizzard, I am surrounded by your
fleshy thoughts. From the tangled shroud of Sleep, I rose. although
I ran naked across the lawn