The markup on these feelings are starting to feel a little Good Will. Expired? Have all my good times run with my mascara on nights that resulted into temporary suicide, over thinking sharper then a knife. Heavy conscious, dapper glitter, confessions to Confucius because no one can tell me who that is and im not up for the third degree if you know a little about me. Stranger affection, dark side connections... The light represents much more then poetic irony in this club. Sitting closer to the speaker looking for a face, vibrating revelations and i am praying to the nonexistent symphonies. Is there a doc in the building, can i get some help? Is there a cop in the house, im looking to get roughed up. Is there a drug dealer anywhere abouts, just give me a fix and a better club mix. Have all my good times run out?
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