4pm Ellsion Elixer

I’ve swam the sea with invisible men and they still claim it ain’t bout the color of skin.
The isn’t nature, it’s the afterthought of destruction, a postpost world of desire in the lost of loving. Badder Badder backhand- they’re yelping at the battle royal and we are all blinded by footprints in the sand. Sandman slight of handiwork, fuckin sleep tight through the night. Dream of the beatdowns, jabbing pockets, gleaming knifetips, and glaring fork-tongued kids without a free lunch to go home with. This is the alcohol for the condition. The spare change newspaper jingle bullets leave your spine riddled- laugh track conceived if we can find someone that listens. A box full of bullets shear your ballot to shreds. I know men that could have climbed ashore, but they considered themselves dead.