They say that weird people ruin God,
Like underneath they play twisted ways.
I know a few of us look at all that
bullshit,
And realize if everyone would question
the past,
It would stir up such a hunger.
A bunch of yesterdays cannot leave you
satisfied.
No heat can open the future.
On our turf, the celebration is
difficult to bottle.
It is that wine on my brain knitting
words
In my heart tonight.
Things made into responsibilities let
work get better.
Throw something in your life,
Like water, coffee, or history.
Finally wear out carpet flags in the
Chicago apartment,
Taste every terrible interaction,
And don't ask about official messages
on Sundays.
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