The Body in Redundancy [The Filthy Fucking Dog of it All]

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& that Shit ain’t Mine. They are showing me Pictures of what my Body would look like if they were cutting it Open. & that Shit ain’t Mine. They are showing me Pictures of what my Body would look like if they were cutting it Open. That Man is a Shuffling along a Song of Sin. & that Shit ain’t Mine. They are showing me Pictures of what my Body would look like if they were cutting it Open. That Man is a Shuffling along a Song of Sin. The Body in here, Whores itself: A Low Prostitution of Voice. & that Shit ain’t Mine. They are showing me Pictures of what my Body would look like if they were cutting it Open. That Man is a Shuffling along a Song of Sin. The Body in here, Whores itself: A Low Prostitution of Voice. Thus, in this Form, I’m Flowered & Paroled. & that Shit ain’t Mine. They are showing me Pictures of what my Body would look like if they were cutting it Open. That Man is a Shuffling along a Song of Sin. The Body in here, Whores itself: A Low Prostitution of Voice. Thus, in this Form, I’m Flowered & Paroled. Thus, there is no reason to speak to me of The Body. & that Shit ain’t Mine. They are showing me Pictures of what my Body would look like if they were cutting it Open. That Man is a Shuffling along a Song of Sin. The Body in here, Whores itself: A Low Prostitution of Voice. Thus, in this Form, I’m Flowered & Paroled. Thus, there is no reason to speak to me of The Body. The Filthy Fucking Dog. & that Shit ain’t Mine. They are showing me Pictures of what my Body would look like if they were cutting it Open. That Man is a Shuffling along a Song of Sin. The Body in here, Whores itself: A Low Prostitution of Voice. Thus, in this Form, I’m Flowered & Paroled. Thus, there is no reason to speak to me of The Body. The Filthy Fucking Dog. Place that Member, in your Mouth & run your Tongue along the Head, until your Teeth Shine, to Gnaw, to Expose the Meat squeezed till the Face falls back, the whole of the Form, shivers in Ecstasy. & that Shit ain’t Mine. They are showing me Pictures of what my Body would look like if they were cutting it Open. That Man is a Shuffling along a Song of Sin. The Body in here, Whores itself: A Low Prostitution of Voice. Thus, in this Form, I’m Flowered & Paroled. Thus, there is no reason to speak to me of The Body. The Filthy Fucking Dog. Place that Member, in your Mouth & run your Tongue along the Head, until your Teeth Shine, to Gnaw, to Expose the Meat squeezed till the Face falls back, the whole of the Form, shivers in Ecstasy. The Passage of which is a Rot in the Belly I got. & that Shit ain’t Mine. They are showing me Pictures of what my Body would look like if they were cutting it Open. That Man is a Shuffling along a Song of Sin. The Body in here, Whores itself: A Low Prostitution of Voice. Thus, in this Form, I’m Flowered & Paroled. Thus, there is no reason to speak to me of The Body. The Filthy Fucking Dog. Place that Member, in your Mouth & run your Tongue along the Head, until your Teeth Shine, to Gnaw, to Expose the Meat squeezed till the Face falls back, the whole of the Form, shivers in Ecstasy. The Passage of which is a Rot in the Belly I got. If we are Fucking, then we are in Lust rising in an Intersection of Divination & Personal Damnation. & that Shit ain’t Mine. They are showing me Pictures of what my Body would look like if they were cutting it Open. That Man is a Shuffling along a Song of Sin. The Body in here, Whores itself: A Low Prostitution of Voice. Thus, in this Form, I’m Flowered & Paroled. Thus, there is no reason to speak to me of The Body. The Filthy Fucking Dog. Place that Member, in your Mouth & run your Tongue along the Head, until your Teeth Shine, to Gnaw, to Expose the Meat squeezed till the Face falls back, the whole of the Form, shivers in Ecstasy. The Passage of which is a Rot in the Belly I got. If we are Fucking, then we are in Lust rising in an Intersection of Divination & Personal Damnation. Growling from The Depths in Admiration. & that Shit ain’t Mine. They are showing me Pictures of what my Body would look like if they were cutting it Open. That Man is a Shuffling along a Song of Sin. The Body in here, Whores itself: A Low Prostitution of Voice. Thus, in this Form, I’m Flowered & Paroled. Thus, there is no reason to speak to me of The Body. The Filthy Fucking Dog. Place that Member, in your Mouth & run your Tongue along the Head, until your Teeth Shine, to Gnaw, to Expose the Meat squeezed till the Face falls back, the whole of the Form, shivers in Ecstasy. The Passage of which is a Rot in the Belly I got. If we are Fucking, then we are in Lust rising in an Intersection of Divination & Personal Damnation. Growling from The Depths in Admiration. “I Understand this” threatens me with Boredom & this Tremors me to my Core. & that Shit ain’t Mine. They are showing me Pictures of what my Body would look like if they were cutting it Open. That Man is a Shuffling along a Song of Sin. The Body in here, Whores itself: A Low Prostitution of Voice. Thus, in this Form, I’m Flowered & Paroled. Thus, there is no reason to speak to me of The Body. The Filthy Fucking Dog. Place that Member, in your Mouth & run your Tongue along the Head, until your Teeth Shine, to Gnaw, to Expose the Meat squeezed till the Face falls back, the whole of the Form, shivers in Ecstasy. The Passage of which is a Rot in the Belly I got. If we are Fucking, then we are in Lust rising in an Intersection of Divination & Personal Damnation. Growling from The Depths in Admiration. “I Understand this” threatens me with Boredom & this Tremors me to my Core. Maybe somewhere in the Beginning of all this, what I had meant, was to Kidnap my own Mouth. & that Shit ain’t Mine. They are showing me Pictures of what my Body would look like if they were cutting it Open. That Man is a Shuffling along a Song of Sin. The Body in here, Whores itself: A Low Prostitution of Voice. Thus, in this Form, I’m Flowered & Paroled. Thus, there is no reason to speak to me of The Body. The Filthy Fucking Dog. Place that Member, in your Mouth & run your Tongue along the Head, until your Teeth Shine, to Gnaw, to Expose the Meat squeezed till the Face falls back, the whole of the Form, shivers in Ecstasy. The Passage of which is a Rot in the Belly I got. If we are Fucking, then we are in Lust rising in an Intersection of Divination & Personal Damnation. Growling from The Depths in Admiration. “I Understand this” threatens me with Boredom & this Tremors me to my Core. Maybe somewhere in the Beginning of all this, what I had meant, was to Kidnap my own Mouth. To rid Myself of the Burden of that Speaking, is all to Shit, in the Innards Societal Half. & that Shit ain’t Mine. They are showing me Pictures of what my Body would look like if they were cutting it Open. That Man is a Shuffling along a Song of Sin. The Body in here, Whores itself: A Low Prostitution of Voice. Thus, in this Form, I’m Flowered & Paroled. Thus, there is no reason to speak to me of The Body. The Filthy Fucking Dog. Place that Member, in your Mouth & run your Tongue along the Head, until your Teeth Shine, to Gnaw, to Expose the Meat squeezed till the Face falls back, the whole of the Form, shivers in Ecstasy. The Passage of which is a Rot in the Belly I got. If we are Fucking, then we are in Lust rising in an Intersection of Divination & Personal Damnation. Growling from The Depths in Admiration. “I Understand this” threatens me with Boredom & this Tremors me to my Core. Maybe somewhere in the Beginning of all this, what I had meant, was to Kidnap my own Mouth. To rid Myself of the Burden of that Speaking, is all to Shit, in the Innards Societal Half. This Action: Hammering. & that Shit ain’t Mine. They are showing me Pictures of what my Body would look like if they were cutting it Open. That Man is a Shuffling along a Song of Sin. The Body in here, Whores itself: A Low Prostitution of Voice. Thus, in this Form, I’m Flowered & Paroled. Thus, there is no reason to speak to me of The Body. The Filthy Fucking Dog. Place that Member, in your Mouth & run your Tongue along the Head, until your Teeth Shine, to Gnaw, to Expose the Meat squeezed till the Face falls back, the whole of the Form, shivers in Ecstasy. The Passage of which is a Rot in the Belly I got. If we are Fucking, then we are in Lust rising in an Intersection of Divination & Personal Damnation. Growling from The Depths in Admiration. “I Understand this” threatens me with Boredom & this Tremors me to my Core. Maybe somewhere in the Beginning of all this, what I had meant, was to Kidnap my own Mouth. To rid Myself of the Burden of that Speaking, is all to Shit, in the Innards Societal Half. This Action: Hammering. To imagine, you’re inhabited by another Body, your every Hole lived within & this makes your Body ever more Beautiful, Baby. & that Shit ain’t Mine. They are showing me Pictures of what my Body would look like if they were cutting it Open. That Man is a Shuffling along a Song of Sin. The Body in here, Whores itself: A Low Prostitution of Voice. Thus, in this Form, I’m Flowered & Paroled. Thus, there is no reason to speak to me of The Body. The Filthy Fucking Dog. Place that Member, in your Mouth & run your Tongue along the Head, until your Teeth Shine, to Gnaw, to Expose the Meat squeezed till the Face falls back, the whole of the Form, shivers in Ecstasy. The Passage of which is a Rot in the Belly I got. If we are Fucking, then we are in Lust rising in an Intersection of Divination & Personal Damnation. Growling from The Depths in Admiration. “I Understand this” threatens me with Boredom & this Tremors me to my Core. Maybe somewhere in the Beginning of all this, what I had meant, was to Kidnap my own Mouth. To rid Myself of the Burden of that Speaking, is all to Shit, in the Innards Societal Half. This Action: Hammering. To imagine, you’re inhabited by another Body, your every Hole lived within & this makes your Body ever more Beautiful, Baby. The fact remains: you’re a Filthy Sentimental Monster. & that Shit ain’t Mine. They are showing me Pictures of what my Body would look like if they were cutting it Open. That Man is a Shuffling along a Song of Sin. The Body in here, Whores itself: A Low Prostitution of Voice. Thus, in this Form, I’m Flowered & Paroled. Thus, there is no reason to speak to me of The Body. The Filthy Fucking Dog. Place that Member, in your Mouth & run your Tongue along the Head, until your Teeth Shine, to Gnaw, to Expose the Meat squeezed till the Face falls back, the whole of the Form, shivers in Ecstasy. The Passage of which is a Rot in the Belly I got. If we are Fucking, then we are in Lust rising in an Intersection of Divination & Personal Damnation. Growling from The Depths in Admiration. “I Understand this” threatens me with Boredom & this Tremors me to my Core. Maybe somewhere in the Beginning of all this, what I had meant, was to Kidnap my own Mouth. To rid Myself of the Burden of that Speaking, is all to Shit, in the Innards Societal Half. This Action: Hammering. To imagine, you’re inhabited by another Body, your every Hole lived within & this makes your Body ever more Beautiful, Baby. The fact remains: you’re a Filthy Sentimental Monster. Or the Sentiment: that which is Filthy, has Fallen to the Ground Down, to the World, opened Down from the Neck on Down Opens & Falls to the Floor now. & that Shit ain’t Mine. They are showing me Pictures of what my Body would look like if they were cutting it Open. That Man is a Shuffling along a Song of Sin. The Body in here, Whores itself: A Low Prostitution of Voice. Thus, in this Form, I’m Flowered & Paroled. Thus, there is no reason to speak to me of The Body. The Filthy Fucking Dog. Place that Member, in your Mouth & run your Tongue along the Head, until your Teeth Shine, to Gnaw, to Expose the Meat squeezed till the Face falls back, the whole of the Form, shivers in Ecstasy. The Passage of which is a Rot in the Belly I got. If we are Fucking, then we are in Lust rising in an Intersection of Divination & Personal Damnation. Growling from The Depths in Admiration. “I Understand this” threatens me with Boredom & this Tremors me to my Core. Maybe somewhere in the Beginning of all this, what I had meant, was to Kidnap my own Mouth. To rid Myself of the Burden of that Speaking, is all to Shit, in the Innards Societal Half. This Action: Hammering. To imagine, you’re inhabited by another Body, your every Hole lived within & this makes your Body ever more Beautiful, Baby. The fact remains: you’re a Filthy Sentimental Monster. Or the Sentiment: that which is Filthy, has Fallen to the Ground Down, to the World, opened Down from the Neck on Down Opens & Falls to the Floor now. All of us Fall together in The Filth of it All, Falls in a Falling Together. & that Shit ain’t Mine. They are showing me Pictures of what my Body would look like if they were cutting it Open. That Man is a Shuffling along a Song of Sin. The Body in here, Whores itself: A Low Prostitution of Voice. Thus, in this Form, I’m Flowered & Paroled. Thus, there is no reason to speak to me of The Body. The Filthy Fucking Dog. Place that Member, in your Mouth & run your Tongue along the Head, until your Teeth Shine, to Gnaw, to Expose the Meat squeezed till the Face falls back, the whole of the Form, shivers in Ecstasy. The Passage of which is a Rot in the Belly I got. If we are Fucking, then we are in Lust rising in an Intersection of Divination & Personal Damnation. Growling from The Depths in Admiration. “I Understand this” threatens me with Boredom & this Tremors me to my Core. Maybe somewhere in the Beginning of all this, what I had meant, was to Kidnap my own Mouth. To rid Myself of the Burden of that Speaking, is all to Shit, in the Innards Societal Half. This Action: Hammering. To imagine, you’re inhabited by another Body, your every Hole lived within & this makes your Body ever more Beautiful, Baby. The fact remains: you’re a Filthy Sentimental Monster. Or the Sentiment: that which is Filthy, has Fallen to the Ground Down, to the World, opened Down from the Neck on Down Opens & Falls to the Floor now. All of us Fall together in The Filth of it All, Falls in a Falling Together. If there was nothing Filthed, nothing then would be considered Cleansed is only to Fall one again back into The Filth, boweling along the Slope of your Face, Silenced now. & that Shit ain’t Mine. They are showing me Pictures of what my Body would look like if they were cutting it Open. That Man is a Shuffling along a Song of Sin. The Body in here, Whores itself: A Low Prostitution of Voice. Thus, in this Form, I’m Flowered & Paroled. Thus, there is no reason to speak to me of The Body. The Filthy Fucking Dog. Place that Member, in your Mouth & run your Tongue along the Head, until your Teeth Shine, to Gnaw, to Expose the Meat squeezed till the Face falls back, the whole of the Form, shivers in Ecstasy. The Passage of which is a Rot in the Belly I got. If we are Fucking, then we are in Lust rising in an Intersection of Divination & Personal Damnation. Growling from The Depths in Admiration. “I Understand this” threatens me with Boredom & this Tremors me to my Core. Maybe somewhere in the Beginning of all this, what I had meant, was to Kidnap my own Mouth. To rid Myself of the Burden of that Speaking, is all to Shit, in the Innards Societal Half. This Action: Hammering. To imagine, you’re inhabited by another Body, your every Hole lived within & this makes your Body ever more Beautiful, Baby. The fact remains: you’re a Filthy Sentimental Monster. Or the Sentiment: that which is Filthy, has Fallen to the Ground Down, to the World, opened Down from the Neck on Down Opens & Falls to the Floor now. All of us Fall together in The Filth of it All, Falls in a Falling Together. If there was nothing Filthed, nothing then would be considered Cleansed is only to Fall one again back into The Filth, boweling along the Slope of your Face, Silenced now. The Serene Scene of the Scaffolds the Corner of your Eye, Seen. & that Shit ain’t Mine. They are showing me Pictures of what my Body would look like if they were cutting it Open. That Man is a Shuffling along a Song of Sin. The Body in here, Whores itself: A Low Prostitution of Voice. Thus, in this Form, I’m Flowered & Paroled. Thus, there is no reason to speak to me of The Body. The Filthy Fucking Dog. Place that Member, in your Mouth & run your Tongue along the Head, until your Teeth Shine, to Gnaw, to Expose the Meat squeezed till the Face falls back, the whole of the Form, shivers in Ecstasy. The Passage of which is a Rot in the Belly I got. If we are Fucking, then we are in Lust rising in an Intersection of Divination & Personal Damnation. Growling from The Depths in Admiration. “I Understand this” threatens me with Boredom & this Tremors me to my Core. Maybe somewhere in the Beginning of all this, what I had meant, was to Kidnap my own Mouth. To rid Myself of the Burden of that Speaking, is all to Shit, in the Innards Societal Half. This Action: Hammering. To imagine, you’re inhabited by another Body, your every Hole lived within & this makes your Body ever more Beautiful, Baby. The fact remains: you’re a Filthy Sentimental Monster. Or the Sentiment: that which is Filthy, has Fallen to the Ground Down, to the World, opened Down from the Neck on Down Opens & Falls to the Floor now. All of us Fall together in The Filth of it All, Falls in a Falling Together. If there was nothing Filthed, nothing then would be considered Cleansed is only to Fall one again back into The Filth, boweling along the Slope of your Face, Silenced now. The Serene Scene of the Scaffolds the Corner of your Eye, Seen. This is a Lullaby for your Trashcan Eyes. & that Shit ain’t Mine. They are showing me Pictures of what my Body would look like if they were cutting it Open. That Man is a Shuffling along a Song of Sin. The Body in here, Whores itself: A Low Prostitution of Voice. Thus, in this Form, I’m Flowered & Paroled. Thus, there is no reason to speak to me of The Body. The Filthy Fucking Dog. Place that Member, in your Mouth & run your Tongue along the Head, until your Teeth Shine, to Gnaw, to Expose the Meat squeezed till the Face falls back, the whole of the Form, shivers in Ecstasy. The Passage of which is a Rot in the Belly I got. If we are Fucking, then we are in Lust rising in an Intersection of Divination & Personal Damnation. Growling from The Depths in Admiration. “I Understand this” threatens me with Boredom & this Tremors me to my Core. Maybe somewhere in the Beginning of all this, what I had meant, was to Kidnap my own Mouth. To rid Myself of the Burden of that Speaking, is all to Shit, in the Innards Societal Half. This Action: Hammering. To imagine, you’re inhabited by another Body, your every Hole lived within & this makes your Body ever more Beautiful, Baby. The fact remains: you’re a Filthy Sentimental Monster. Or the Sentiment: that which is Filthy, has Fallen to the Ground Down, to the World, opened Down from the Neck on Down Opens & Falls to the Floor now. All of us Fall together in The Filth of it All, Falls in a Falling Together. If there was nothing Filthed, nothing then would be considered Cleansed is only to Fall one again back into The Filth, boweling along the Slope of your Face, Silenced now. The Serene Scene of the Scaffolds the Corner of your Eye, Seen. This is a Lullaby for your Trashcan Eyes. Or, gathering ourselves Naked, in the Distance, of what our Bodies confessed it best to Fuck in Filth to Anti—Oppress The Body reflects itself as a Beautiful Mess. & that Shit ain’t Mine. They are showing me Pictures of what my Body would look like if they were cutting it Open. That Man is a Shuffling along a Song of Sin. The Body in here, Whores itself: A Low Prostitution of Voice. Thus, in this Form, I’m Flowered & Paroled. Thus, there is no reason to speak to me of The Body. The Filthy Fucking Dog. Place that Member, in your Mouth & run your Tongue along the Head, until your Teeth Shine, to Gnaw, to Expose the Meat squeezed till the Face falls back, the whole of the Form, shivers in Ecstasy. The Passage of which is a Rot in the Belly I got. If we are Fucking, then we are in Lust rising in an Intersection of Divination & Personal Damnation. Growling from The Depths in Admiration. “I Understand this” threatens me with Boredom & this Tremors me to my Core. Maybe somewhere in the Beginning of all this, what I had meant, was to Kidnap my own Mouth. To rid Myself of the Burden of that Speaking, is all to Shit, in the Innards Societal Half. This Action: Hammering. To imagine, you’re inhabited by another Body, your every Hole lived within & this makes your Body ever more Beautiful, Baby. The fact remains: you’re a Filthy Sentimental Monster. Or the Sentiment: that which is Filthy, has Fallen to the Ground Down, to the World, opened Down from the Neck on Down Opens & Falls to the Floor now. All of us Fall together in The Filth of it All, Falls in a Falling Together. If there was nothing Filthed, nothing then would be considered Cleansed is only to Fall one again back into The Filth, boweling along the Slope of your Face, Silenced now. The Serene Scene of the Scaffolds the Corner of your Eye, Seen. This is a Lullaby for your Trashcan Eyes. Or, gathering ourselves Naked, in the Distance, of what our Bodies confessed it best to Fuck in Filth to Anti—Oppress The Body reflects itself as a Beautiful Mess. Where you stand in the Mouth there is The Figure, Digging it’s Head in the Dirt, tearing out a howrel, across the Setting the Sky to Dust to Dirt to Us. & that Shit ain’t Mine. They are showing me Pictures of what my Body would look like if they were cutting it Open. That Man is a Shuffling along a Song of Sin. The Body in here, Whores itself: A Low Prostitution of Voice. Thus, in this Form, I’m Flowered & Paroled. Thus, there is no reason to speak to me of The Body. The Filthy Fucking Dog. Place that Member, in your Mouth & run your Tongue along the Head, until your Teeth Shine, to Gnaw, to Expose the Meat squeezed till the Face falls back, the whole of the Form, shivers in Ecstasy. The Passage of which is a Rot in the Belly I got. If we are Fucking, then we are in Lust rising in an Intersection of Divination & Personal Damnation. Growling from The Depths in Admiration. “I Understand this” threatens me with Boredom & this Tremors me to my Core. Maybe somewhere in the Beginning of all this, what I had meant, was to Kidnap my own Mouth. To rid Myself of the Burden of that Speaking, is all to Shit, in the Innards Societal Half. This Action: Hammering. To imagine, you’re inhabited by another Body, your every Hole lived within & this makes your Body ever more Beautiful, Baby. The fact remains: you’re a Filthy Sentimental Monster. Or the Sentiment: that which is Filthy, has Fallen to the Ground Down, to the World, opened Down from the Neck on Down Opens & Falls to the Floor now. All of us Fall together in The Filth of it All, Falls in a Falling Together. If there was nothing Filthed, nothing then would be considered Cleansed is only to Fall one again back into The Filth, boweling along the Slope of your Face, Silenced now. The Serene Scene of the Scaffolds the Corner of your Eye, Seen. This is a Lullaby for your Trashcan Eyes. Or, gathering ourselves Naked, in the Distance, of what our Bodies confessed it best to Fuck in Filth to Anti—Oppress The Body reflects itself as a Beautiful Mess. Where you stand in the Mouth there is The Figure, Digging it’s Head in the Dirt, tearing out a howrel, across the Setting the Sky to Dust to Dirt to Us. It is in my Bed, Swollen with Sweat that I find you with an Upset Stomach. & that Shit ain’t Mine. They are showing me Pictures of what my Body would look like if they were cutting it Open. That Man is a Shuffling along a Song of Sin. The Body in here, Whores itself: A Low Prostitution of Voice. Thus, in this Form, I’m Flowered & Paroled. Thus, there is no reason to speak to me of The Body. The Filthy Fucking Dog. Place that Member, in your Mouth & run your Tongue along the Head, until your Teeth Shine, to Gnaw, to Expose the Meat squeezed till the Face falls back, the whole of the Form, shivers in Ecstasy. The Passage of which is a Rot in the Belly I got. If we are Fucking, then we are in Lust rising in an Intersection of Divination & Personal Damnation. Growling from The Depths in Admiration. “I Understand this” threatens me with Boredom & this Tremors me to my Core. Maybe somewhere in the Beginning of all this, what I had meant, was to Kidnap my own Mouth. To rid Myself of the Burden of that Speaking, is all to Shit, in the Innards Societal Half. This Action: Hammering. To imagine, you’re inhabited by another Body, your every Hole lived within & this makes your Body ever more Beautiful, Baby. The fact remains: you’re a Filthy Sentimental Monster. Or the Sentiment: that which is Filthy, has Fallen to the Ground Down, to the World, opened Down from the Neck on Down Opens & Falls to the Floor now. All of us Fall together in The Filth of it All, Falls in a Falling Together. If there was nothing Filthed, nothing then would be considered Cleansed is only to Fall one again back into The Filth, boweling along the Slope of your Face, Silenced now. The Serene Scene of the Scaffolds the Corner of your Eye, Seen. This is a Lullaby for your Trashcan Eyes. Or, gathering ourselves Naked, in the Distance, of what our Bodies confessed it best to Fuck in Filth to Anti—Oppress The Body reflects itself as a Beautiful Mess. Where you stand in the Mouth there is The Figure, Digging it’s Head in the Dirt, tearing out a howrel, across the Setting the Sky to Dust to Dirt to Us. It is in my Bed, Swollen with Sweat that I find you with an Upset Stomach. That is a Resurgence of what Implies, there is no Cure for the Dirt of the Human Life that Awoke me. & that Shit ain’t Mine. They are showing me Pictures of what my Body would look like if they were cutting it Open. That Man is a Shuffling along a Song of Sin. The Body in here, Whores itself: A Low Prostitution of Voice. Thus, in this Form, I’m Flowered & Paroled. Thus, there is no reason to speak to me of The Body. The Filthy Fucking Dog. Place that Member, in your Mouth & run your Tongue along the Head, until your Teeth Shine, to Gnaw, to Expose the Meat squeezed till the Face falls back, the whole of the Form, shivers in Ecstasy. The Passage of which is a Rot in the Belly I got. If we are Fucking, then we are in Lust rising in an Intersection of Divination & Personal Damnation. Growling from The Depths in Admiration. “I Understand this” threatens me with Boredom & this Tremors me to my Core. Maybe somewhere in the Beginning of all this, what I had meant, was to Kidnap my own Mouth. To rid Myself of the Burden of that Speaking, is all to Shit, in the Innards Societal Half. This Action: Hammering. To imagine, you’re inhabited by another Body, your every Hole lived within & this makes your Body ever more Beautiful, Baby. The fact remains: you’re a Filthy Sentimental Monster. Or the Sentiment: that which is Filthy, has Fallen to the Ground Down, to the World, opened Down from the Neck on Down Opens & Falls to the Floor now. All of us Fall together in The Filth of it All, Falls in a Falling Together. If there was nothing Filthed, nothing then would be considered Cleansed is only to Fall one again back into The Filth, boweling along the Slope of your Face, Silenced now. The Serene Scene of the Scaffolds the Corner of your Eye, Seen. This is a Lullaby for your Trashcan Eyes. Or, gathering ourselves Naked, in the Distance, of what our Bodies confessed it best to Fuck in Filth to Anti—Oppress The Body reflects itself as a Beautiful Mess. Where you stand in the Mouth there is The Figure, Digging it’s Head in the Dirt, tearing out a howrel, across the Setting the Sky to Dust to Dirt to Us. It is in my Bed, Swollen with Sweat that I find you with an Upset Stomach. That is a Resurgence of what Implies, there is no Cure for the Dirt of the Human Life that Awoke me. In the Human Architecture enacts an Act of Eating itself Eating upon Eating to only the Eating the Slow Shoveling the Shivering the Head in a Heap until you Gasp your Body back for Silence, or Space in which to Maneuver, your Eyes now, which Open to Reveal this Memory, this Shitting Act of Unfolding yourself now Folding. & that Shit ain’t Mine. They are showing me Pictures of what my Body would look like if they were cutting it Open. That Man is a Shuffling along a Song of Sin. The Body in here, Whores itself: A Low Prostitution of Voice. Thus, in this Form, I’m Flowered & Paroled. Thus, there is no reason to speak to me of The Body. The Filthy Fucking Dog. Place that Member, in your Mouth & run your Tongue along the Head, until your Teeth Shine, to Gnaw, to Expose the Meat squeezed till the Face falls back, the whole of the Form, shivers in Ecstasy. The Passage of which is a Rot in the Belly I got. If we are Fucking, then we are in Lust rising in an Intersection of Divination & Personal Damnation. Growling from The Depths in Admiration. “I Understand this” threatens me with Boredom & this Tremors me to my Core. Maybe somewhere in the Beginning of all this, what I had meant, was to Kidnap my own Mouth. To rid Myself of the Burden of that Speaking, is all to Shit, in the Innards Societal Half. This Action: Hammering. To imagine, you’re inhabited by another Body, your every Hole lived within & this makes your Body ever more Beautiful, Baby. The fact remains: you’re a Filthy Sentimental Monster. Or the Sentiment: that which is Filthy, has Fallen to the Ground Down, to the World, opened Down from the Neck on Down Opens & Falls to the Floor now. All of us Fall together in The Filth of it All, Falls in a Falling Together. If there was nothing Filthed, nothing then would be considered Cleansed is only to Fall one again back into The Filth, boweling along the Slope of your Face, Silenced now. The Serene Scene of the Scaffolds the Corner of your Eye, Seen. This is a Lullaby for your Trashcan Eyes. Or, gathering ourselves Naked, in the Distance, of what our Bodies confessed it best to Fuck in Filth to Anti—Oppress The Body reflects itself as a Beautiful Mess. Where you stand in the Mouth there is The Figure, Digging it’s Head in the Dirt, tearing out a howrel, across the Setting the Sky to Dust to Dirt to Us. It is in my Bed, Swollen with Sweat that I find you with an Upset Stomach. That is a Resurgence of what Implies, there is no Cure for the Dirt of the Human Life that Awoke me. In the Human Architecture enacts an Act of Eating itself Eating upon Eating to only the Eating the Slow Shoveling the Shivering the Head in a Heap until you Gasp your Body back for Silence, or Space in which to Maneuver, your Eyes now, which Open to Reveal this Memory, this Shitting Act of Unfolding yourself now Folding. You called yourself a Landfill which was a Picture of the Whole World beneath a Dead Man’s Smile that Laid Low in the Land laid low the lowlow Man. . & that Shit ain’t Mine. They are showing me Pictures of what my Body would look like if they were cutting it Open. That Man is a Shuffling along a Song of Sin. The Body in here, Whores itself: A Low Prostitution of Voice. Thus, in this Form, I’m Flowered & Paroled. Thus, there is no reason to speak to me of The Body. The Filthy Fucking Dog. Place that Member, in your Mouth & run your Tongue along the Head, until your Teeth Shine, to Gnaw, to Expose the Meat squeezed till the Face falls back, the whole of the Form, shivers in Ecstasy. The Passage of which is a Rot in the Belly I got. If we are Fucking, then we are in Lust rising in an Intersection of Divination & Personal Damnation. Growling from The Depths in Admiration. “I Understand this” threatens me with Boredom & this Tremors me to my Core. Maybe somewhere in the Beginning of all this, what I had meant, was to Kidnap my own Mouth. To rid Myself of the Burden of that Speaking, is all to Shit, in the Innards Societal Half. This Action: Hammering. To imagine, you’re inhabited by another Body, your every Hole lived within & this makes your Body ever more Beautiful, Baby. The fact remains: you’re a Filthy Sentimental Monster. Or the Sentiment: that which is Filthy, has Fallen to the Ground Down, to the World, opened Down from the Neck on Down Opens & Falls to the Floor now. All of us Fall together in The Filth of it All, Falls in a Falling Together. If there was nothing Filthed, nothing then would be considered Cleansed is only to Fall one again back into The Filth, boweling along the Slope of your Face, Silenced now. The Serene Scene of the Scaffolds the Corner of your Eye, Seen. This is a Lullaby for your Trashcan Eyes. Or, gathering ourselves Naked, in the Distance, of what our Bodies confessed it best to Fuck in Filth to Anti—Oppress The Body reflects itself as a Beautiful Mess. Where you stand in the Mouth there is The Figure, Digging it’s Head in the Dirt, tearing out a howrel, across the Setting the Sky to Dust to Dirt to Us. It is in my Bed, Swollen with Sweat that I find you with an Upset Stomach. That is a Resurgence of what Implies, there is no Cure for the Dirt of the Human Life that Awoke me. In the Human Architecture enacts an Act of Eating itself Eating upon Eating to only the Eating the Slow Shoveling the Shivering the Head in a Heap until you Gasp your Body back for Silence, or Space in which to Maneuver, your Eyes now, which Open to Reveal this Memory, this Shitting Act of Unfolding yourself now Folding. You called yourself a Landfill which was a Picture of the Whole World beneath a Dead Man’s Smile that Laid Low in the Land laid low the lowlow Man. My Body today, will begin in this Image in the Loop & that Shit ain’t Mine. They are showing me Pictures of what my Body would look like if they were cutting it Open. That Man is a Shuffling along a Song of Sin. The Body in here, Whores itself: A Low Prostitution of Voice. Thus, in this Form, I’m Flowered & Paroled. Thus, there is no reason to speak to me of The Body. The Filthy Fucking Dog. Place that Member, in your Mouth & run your Tongue along the Head, until your Teeth Shine, to Gnaw, to Expose the Meat squeezed till the Face falls back, the whole of the Form, shivers in Ecstasy. The Passage of which is a Rot in the Belly I got. If we are Fucking, then we are in Lust rising in an Intersection of Divination & Personal Damnation. Growling from The Depths in Admiration. “I Understand this” threatens me with Boredom & this Tremors me to my Core. Maybe somewhere in the Beginning of all this, what I had meant, was to Kidnap my own Mouth. To rid Myself of the Burden of that Speaking, is all to Shit, in the Innards Societal Half. This Action: Hammering. To imagine, you’re inhabited by another Body, your every Hole lived within & this makes your Body ever more Beautiful, Baby. The fact remains: you’re a Filthy Sentimental Monster. Or the Sentiment: that which is Filthy, has Fallen to the Ground Down, to the World, opened Down from the Neck on Down Opens & Falls to the Floor now. All of us Fall together in The Filth of it All, Falls in a Falling Together. If there was nothing Filthed, nothing then would be considered Cleansed is only to Fall one again back into The Filth, boweling along the Slope of your Face, Silenced now. The Serene Scene of the Scaffolds the Corner of your Eye, Seen. This is a Lullaby for your Trashcan Eyes. Or, gathering ourselves Naked, in the Distance, of what our Bodies confessed it best to Fuck in Filth to Anti—Oppress The Body reflects itself as a Beautiful Mess. Where you stand in the Mouth there is The Figure, Digging it’s Head in the Dirt, tearing out a howrel, across the Setting the Sky to Dust to Dirt to Us. It is in my Bed, Swollen with Sweat that I find you with an Upset Stomach. That is a Resurgence of what Implies, there is no Cure for the Dirt of the Human Life that Awoke me. In the Human Architecture enacts an Act of Eating itself Eating upon Eating to only the Eating the Slow Shoveling the Shivering the Head in a Heap until you Gasp your Body back for Silence, or Space in which to Maneuver, your Eyes now, which Open to Reveal this Memory, this Shitting Act of Unfolding yourself now Folding. You called yourself a Landfill which was a Picture of the Whole World beneath a Dead Man’s Smile that Laid Low in the Land laid low the lowlow Man. My Body today, will begin in this Image in the Loop In the Summer, you’re Sweating, alone in your Room, Curling your Body/Up in your Own Little Shitstanza. & that Shit ain’t Mine. They are showing me Pictures of what my Body would look like if they were cutting it Open. That Man is a Shuffling along a Song of Sin. The Body in here, Whores itself: A Low Prostitution of Voice. Thus, in this Form, I’m Flowered & Paroled. Thus, there is no reason to speak to me of The Body. The Filthy Fucking Dog. Place that Member, in your Mouth & run your Tongue along the Head, until your Teeth Shine, to Gnaw, to Expose the Meat squeezed till the Face falls back, the whole of the Form, shivers in Ecstasy. The Passage of which is a Rot in the Belly I got. If we are Fucking, then we are in Lust rising in an Intersection of Divination & Personal Damnation. Growling from The Depths in Admiration. “I Understand this” threatens me with Boredom & this Tremors me to my Core. Maybe somewhere in the Beginning of all this, what I had meant, was to Kidnap my own Mouth. To rid Myself of the Burden of that Speaking, is all to Shit, in the Innards Societal Half. This Action: Hammering. To imagine, you’re inhabited by another Body, your every Hole lived within & this makes your Body ever more Beautiful, Baby. The fact remains: you’re a Filthy Sentimental Monster. Or the Sentiment: that which is Filthy, has Fallen to the Ground Down, to the World, opened Down from the Neck on Down Opens & Falls to the Floor now. All of us Fall together in The Filth of it All, Falls in a Falling Together. If there was nothing Filthed, nothing then would be considered Cleansed is only to Fall one again back into The Filth, boweling along the Slope of your Face, Silenced now. The Serene Scene of the Scaffolds the Corner of your Eye, Seen. This is a Lullaby for your Trashcan Eyes. Or, gathering ourselves Naked, in the Distance, of what our Bodies confessed it best to Fuck in Filth to Anti—Oppress The Body reflects itself as a Beautiful Mess. Where you stand in the Mouth there is The Figure, Digging it’s Head in the Dirt, tearing out a howrel, across the Setting the Sky to Dust to Dirt to Us. It is in my Bed, Swollen with Sweat that I find you with an Upset Stomach. That is a Resurgence of what Implies, there is no Cure for the Dirt of the Human Life that Awoke me. In the Human Architecture enacts an Act of Eating itself Eating upon Eating to only the Eating the Slow Shoveling the Shivering the Head in a Heap until you Gasp your Body back for Silence, or Space in which to Maneuver, your Eyes now, which Open to Reveal this Memory, this Shitting Act of Unfolding yourself now Folding. You called yourself a Landfill which was a Picture of the Whole World beneath a Dead Man’s Smile that Laid Low in the Land laid low the lowlow Man. My Body today, will begin in this Image in the Loop In the Summer, you’re Sweating, alone in your Room, Curling your Body/Up in your Own Little Shitstanza. You want Love, all you want is a Love to call your Own. & that Shit ain’t Mine. They are showing me Pictures of what my Body would look like if they were cutting it Open. That Man is a Shuffling along a Song of Sin. The Body in here, Whores itself: A Low Prostitution of Voice. Thus, in this Form, I’m Flowered & Paroled. Thus, there is no reason to speak to me of The Body. The Filthy Fucking Dog. Place that Member, in your Mouth & run your Tongue along the Head, until your Teeth Shine, to Gnaw, to Expose the Meat squeezed till the Face falls back, the whole of the Form, shivers in Ecstasy. The Passage of which is a Rot in the Belly I got. If we are Fucking, then we are in Lust rising in an Intersection of Divination & Personal Damnation. Growling from The Depths in Admiration. “I Understand this” threatens me with Boredom & this Tremors me to my Core. Maybe somewhere in the Beginning of all this, what I had meant, was to Kidnap my own Mouth. To rid Myself of the Burden of that Speaking, is all to Shit, in the Innards Societal Half. This Action: Hammering. To imagine, you’re inhabited by another Body, your every Hole lived within & this makes your Body ever more Beautiful, Baby. The fact remains: you’re a Filthy Sentimental Monster. Or the Sentiment: that which is Filthy, has Fallen to the Ground Down, to the World, opened Down from the Neck on Down Opens & Falls to the Floor now. All of us Fall together in The Filth of it All, Falls in a Falling Together. If there was nothing Filthed, nothing then would be considered Cleansed is only to Fall one again back into The Filth, boweling along the Slope of your Face, Silenced now. The Serene Scene of the Scaffolds the Corner of your Eye, Seen. This is a Lullaby for your Trashcan Eyes. Or, gathering ourselves Naked, in the Distance, of what our Bodies confessed it best to Fuck in Filth to Anti—Oppress The Body reflects itself as a Beautiful Mess. Where you stand in the Mouth there is The Figure, Digging it’s Head in the Dirt, tearing out a howrel, across the Setting the Sky to Dust to Dirt to Us. It is in my Bed, Swollen with Sweat that I find you with an Upset Stomach. That is a Resurgence of what Implies, there is no Cure for the Dirt of the Human Life that Awoke me. In the Human Architecture enacts an Act of Eating itself Eating upon Eating to only the Eating the Slow Shoveling the Shivering the Head in a Heap until you Gasp your Body back for Silence, or Space in which to Maneuver, your Eyes now, which Open to Reveal this Memory, this Shitting Act of Unfolding yourself now Folding. You called yourself a Landfill which was a Picture of the Whole World beneath a Dead Man’s Smile that Laid Low in the Land laid low the lowlow Man. My Body today, will begin in this Image in the Loop In the Summer, you’re Sweating, alone in your Room, Curling your Body/Up in your Own Little Shitstanza. You want Love, all you want is a Love to call your Own. & I just want some of that Ass, Sweetheart. & that Shit ain’t Mine. They are showing me Pictures of what my Body would look like if they were cutting it Open. That Man is a Shuffling along a Song of Sin. The Body in here, Whores itself: A Low Prostitution of Voice. Thus, in this Form, I’m Flowered & Paroled. Thus, there is no reason to speak to me of The Body. The Filthy Fucking Dog. Place that Member, in your Mouth & run your Tongue along the Head, until your Teeth Shine, to Gnaw, to Expose the Meat squeezed till the Face falls back, the whole of the Form, shivers in Ecstasy. The Passage of which is a Rot in the Belly I got. If we are Fucking, then we are in Lust rising in an Intersection of Divination & Personal Damnation. Growling from The Depths in Admiration. “I Understand this” threatens me with Boredom & this Tremors me to my Core. Maybe somewhere in the Beginning of all this, what I had meant, was to Kidnap my own Mouth. To rid Myself of the Burden of that Speaking, is all to Shit, in the Innards Societal Half. This Action: Hammering. To imagine, you’re inhabited by another Body, your every Hole lived within & this makes your Body ever more Beautiful, Baby. The fact remains: you’re a Filthy Sentimental Monster. Or the Sentiment: that which is Filthy, has Fallen to the Ground Down, to the World, opened Down from the Neck on Down Opens & Falls to the Floor now. All of us Fall together in The Filth of it All, Falls in a Falling Together. If there was nothing Filthed, nothing then would be considered Cleansed is only to Fall one again back into The Filth, boweling along the Slope of your Face, Silenced now. The Serene Scene of the Scaffolds the Corner of your Eye, Seen. This is a Lullaby for your Trashcan Eyes. Or, gathering ourselves Naked, in the Distance, of what our Bodies confessed it best to Fuck in Filth to Anti—Oppress The Body reflects itself as a Beautiful Mess. Where you stand in the Mouth there is The Figure, Digging it’s Head in the Dirt, tearing out a howrel, across the Setting the Sky to Dust to Dirt to Us. It is in my Bed, Swollen with Sweat that I find you with an Upset Stomach. That is a Resurgence of what Implies, there is no Cure for the Dirt of the Human Life that Awoke me. In the Human Architecture enacts an Act of Eating itself Eating upon Eating to only the Eating the Slow Shoveling the Shivering the Head in a Heap until you Gasp your Body back for Silence, or Space in which to Maneuver, your Eyes now, which Open to Reveal this Memory, this Shitting Act of Unfolding yourself now Folding. You called yourself a Landfill which was a Picture of the Whole World beneath a Dead Man’s Smile that Laid Low in the Land laid low the lowlow Man. My Body today, will begin in this Image in the Loop In the Summer, you’re Sweating, alone in your Room, Curling your Body/Up in your Own Little Shitstanza. You want Love, all you want is a Love to call your Own. & I just want some of that Ass, Sweetheart. Or, Fucking in Reverse “Your Face” Assed in my Hands in which I bent to Lower the Drown the Face in the Flesh to this My Feast is this. & that Shit ain’t Mine. They are showing me Pictures of what my Body would look like if they were cutting it Open. That Man is a Shuffling along a Song of Sin. The Body in here, Whores itself: A Low Prostitution of Voice. Thus, in this Form, I’m Flowered & Paroled. Thus, there is no reason to speak to me of The Body. The Filthy Fucking Dog. Place that Member, in your Mouth & run your Tongue along the Head, until your Teeth Shine, to Gnaw, to Expose the Meat squeezed till the Face falls back, the whole of the Form, shivers in Ecstasy. The Passage of which is a Rot in the Belly I got. If we are Fucking, then we are in Lust rising in an Intersection of Divination & Personal Damnation. Growling from The Depths in Admiration. “I Understand this” threatens me with Boredom & this Tremors me to my Core. Maybe somewhere in the Beginning of all this, what I had meant, was to Kidnap my own Mouth. To rid Myself of the Burden of that Speaking, is all to Shit, in the Innards Societal Half. This Action: Hammering. To imagine, you’re inhabited by another Body, your every Hole lived within & this makes your Body ever more Beautiful, Baby. The fact remains: you’re a Filthy Sentimental Monster. Or the Sentiment: that which is Filthy, has Fallen to the Ground Down, to the World, opened Down from the Neck on Down Opens & Falls to the Floor now. All of us Fall together in The Filth of it All, Falls in a Falling Together. If there was nothing Filthed, nothing then would be considered Cleansed is only to Fall one again back into The Filth, boweling along the Slope of your Face, Silenced now. The Serene Scene of the Scaffolds the Corner of your Eye, Seen. This is a Lullaby for your Trashcan Eyes. Or, gathering ourselves Naked, in the Distance, of what our Bodies confessed it best to Fuck in Filth to Anti—Oppress The Body reflects itself as a Beautiful Mess. Where you stand in the Mouth there is The Figure, Digging it’s Head in the Dirt, tearing out a howrel, across the Setting the Sky to Dust to Dirt to Us. It is in my Bed, Swollen with Sweat that I find you with an Upset Stomach. That is a Resurgence of what Implies, there is no Cure for the Dirt of the Human Life that Awoke me. In the Human Architecture enacts an Act of Eating itself Eating upon Eating to only the Eating the Slow Shoveling the Shivering the Head in a Heap until you Gasp your Body back for Silence, or Space in which to Maneuver, your Eyes now, which Open to Reveal this Memory, this Shitting Act of Unfolding yourself now Folding. You called yourself a Landfill which was a Picture of the Whole World beneath a Dead Man’s Smile that Laid Low in the Land laid low the lowlow Man. My Body today, will begin in this Image in the Loop In the Summer, you’re Sweating, alone in your Room, Curling your Body/Up in your Own Little Shitstanza. You want Love, all you want is a Love to call your Own. & I just want some of that Ass, Sweetheart. & that Shit ain’t Mine. They are showing me Pictures of what my Body would look like if they were cutting it Open. That Man is a Shuffling along a Song of Sin. The Body in here, Whores itself: A Low Prostitution of Voice. Thus, in this Form, I’m Flowered & Paroled. Thus, there is no reason to speak to me of The Body. The Filthy Fucking Dog. Place that Member, in your Mouth & run your Tongue along the Head, until your Teeth Shine, to Gnaw, to Expose the Meat squeezed till the Face falls back, the whole of the Form, shivers in Ecstasy. The Passage of which is a Rot in the Belly I got. If we are Fucking, then we are in Lust rising in an Intersection of Divination & Personal Damnation. Growling from The Depths in Admiration. “I Understand this” threatens me with Boredom & this Tremors me to my Core. Maybe somewhere in the Beginning of all this, what I had meant, was to Kidnap my own Mouth. To rid Myself of the Burden of that Speaking, is all to Shit, in the Innards Societal Half. This Action: Hammering. To imagine, you’re inhabited by another Body, your every Hole lived within & this makes your Body ever more Beautiful, Baby. The fact remains: you’re a Filthy Sentimental Monster. Or the Sentiment: that which is Filthy, has Fallen to the Ground Down, to the World, opened Down from the Neck on Down Opens & Falls to the Floor now. All of us Fall together in The Filth of it All, Falls in a Falling Together. If there was nothing Filthed, nothing then would be considered Cleansed is only to Fall one again back into The Filth, boweling along the Slope of your Face, Silenced now. The Serene Scene of the Scaffolds the Corner of your Eye, Seen. This is a Lullaby for your Trashcan Eyes. Or, gathering ourselves Naked, in the Distance, of what our Bodies confessed it best to Fuck in Filth to Anti—Oppress The Body reflects itself as a Beautiful Mess. Where you stand in the Mouth there is The Figure, Digging it’s Head in the Dirt, tearing out a howrel, across the Setting the Sky to Dust to Dirt to Us. It is in my Bed, Swollen with Sweat that I find you with an Upset Stomach. That is a Resurgence of what Implies, there is no Cure for the Dirt of the Human Life that Awoke me. In the Human Architecture enacts an Act of Eating itself Eating upon Eating to only the Eating the Slow Shoveling the Shivering the Head in a Heap until you Gasp your Body back for Silence, or Space in which to Maneuver, your Eyes now, which Open to Reveal this Memory, this Shitting Act of Unfolding yourself now Folding. You called yourself a Landfill which was a Picture of the Whole World beneath a Dead Man’s Smile that Laid Low in the Land laid low the lowlow Man. My Body today, will begin in this Image in the Loop In the Summer, you’re Sweating, alone in your Room, Curling your Body/Up in your Own Little Shitstanza. & that Shit ain’t Mine. They are showing me Pictures of what my Body would look like if they were cutting it Open. That Man is a Shuffling along a Song of Sin. The Body in here, Whores itself: A Low Prostitution of Voice. Thus, in this Form, I’m Flowered & Paroled. Thus, there is no reason to speak to me of The Body. The Filthy Fucking Dog. Place that Member, in your Mouth & run your Tongue along the Head, until your Teeth Shine, to Gnaw, to Expose the Meat squeezed till the Face falls back, the whole of the Form, shivers in Ecstasy. The Passage of which is a Rot in the Belly I got. If we are Fucking, then we are in Lust rising in an Intersection of Divination & Personal Damnation. Growling from The Depths in Admiration. “I Understand this” threatens me with Boredom & this Tremors me to my Core. Maybe somewhere in the Beginning of all this, what I had meant, was to Kidnap my own Mouth. To rid Myself of the Burden of that Speaking, is all to Shit, in the Innards Societal Half. This Action: Hammering. To imagine, you’re inhabited by another Body, your every Hole lived within & this makes your Body ever more Beautiful, Baby. The fact remains: you’re a Filthy Sentimental Monster. Or the Sentiment: that which is Filthy, has Fallen to the Ground Down, to the World, opened Down from the Neck on Down Opens & Falls to the Floor now. All of us Fall together in The Filth of it All, Falls in a Falling Together. If there was nothing Filthed, nothing then would be considered Cleansed is only to Fall one again back into The Filth, boweling along the Slope of your Face, Silenced now. The Serene Scene of the Scaffolds the Corner of your Eye, Seen. This is a Lullaby for your Trashcan Eyes. Or, gathering ourselves Naked, in the Distance, of what our Bodies confessed it best to Fuck in Filth to Anti—Oppress The Body reflects itself as a Beautiful Mess. Where you stand in the Mouth there is The Figure, Digging it’s Head in the Dirt, tearing out a howrel, across the Setting the Sky to Dust to Dirt to Us. It is in my Bed, Swollen with Sweat that I find you with an Upset Stomach. That is a Resurgence of what Implies, there is no Cure for the Dirt of the Human Life that Awoke me. In the Human Architecture enacts an Act of Eating itself Eating upon Eating to only the Eating the Slow Shoveling the Shivering the Head in a Heap until you Gasp your Body back for Silence, or Space in which to Maneuver, your Eyes now, which Open to Reveal this Memory, this Shitting Act of Unfolding yourself now Folding. You called yourself a Landfill which was a Picture of the Whole World beneath a Dead Man’s Smile that Laid Low in the Land laid low the lowlow Man. & that Shit ain’t Mine. They are showing me Pictures of what my Body would look like if they were cutting it Open. That Man is a Shuffling along a Song of Sin. The Body in here, Whores itself: A Low Prostitution of Voice. Thus, in this Form, I’m Flowered & Paroled. Thus, there is no reason to speak to me of The Body. The Filthy Fucking Dog. Place that Member, in your Mouth & run your Tongue along the Head, until your Teeth Shine, to Gnaw, to Expose the Meat squeezed till the Face falls back, the whole of the Form, shivers in Ecstasy. The Passage of which is a Rot in the Belly I got. If we are Fucking, then we are in Lust rising in an Intersection of Divination & Personal Damnation. Growling from The Depths in Admiration. “I Understand this” threatens me with Boredom & this Tremors me to my Core. Maybe somewhere in the Beginning of all this, what I had meant, was to Kidnap my own Mouth. To rid Myself of the Burden of that Speaking, is all to Shit, in the Innards Societal Half. This Action: Hammering. To imagine, you’re inhabited by another Body, your every Hole lived within & this makes your Body ever more Beautiful, Baby. The fact remains: you’re a Filthy Sentimental Monster. Or the Sentiment: that which is Filthy, has Fallen to the Ground Down, to the World, opened Down from the Neck on Down Opens & Falls to the Floor now. All of us Fall together in The Filth of it All, Falls in a Falling Together. If there was nothing Filthed, nothing then would be considered Cleansed is only to Fall one again back into The Filth, boweling along the Slope of your Face, Silenced now. The Serene Scene of the Scaffolds the Corner of your Eye, Seen. This is a Lullaby for your Trashcan Eyes. Or, gathering ourselves Naked, in the Distance, of what our Bodies confessed it best to Fuck in Filth to Anti—Oppress The Body reflects itself as a Beautiful Mess. Where you stand in the Mouth there is The Figure, Digging it’s Head in the Dirt, tearing out a howrel, across the Setting the Sky to Dust to Dirt to Us. It is in my Bed, Swollen with Sweat that I find you with an Upset Stomach. That is a Resurgence of what Implies, there is no Cure for the Dirt of the Human Life that Awoke me. In the Human Architecture enacts an Act of Eating itself Eating upon Eating to only the Eating the Slow Shoveling the Shivering the Head in a Heap until you Gasp your Body back for Silence, or Space in which to Maneuver, your Eyes now, which Open to Reveal this Memory, this Shitting Act of Unfolding yourself now Folding. & that Shit ain’t Mine. They are showing me Pictures of what my Body would look like if they were cutting it Open. That Man is a Shuffling along a Song of Sin. The Body in here, Whores itself: A Low Prostitution of Voice. Thus, in this Form, I’m Flowered & Paroled. Thus, there is no reason to speak to me of The Body. The Filthy Fucking Dog. Place that Member, in your Mouth & run your Tongue along the Head, until your Teeth Shine, to Gnaw, to Expose the Meat squeezed till the Face falls back, the whole of the Form, shivers in Ecstasy. The Passage of which is a Rot in the Belly I got. If we are Fucking, then we are in Lust rising in an Intersection of Divination & Personal Damnation. Growling from The Depths in Admiration. “I Understand this” threatens me with Boredom & this Tremors me to my Core. Maybe somewhere in the Beginning of all this, what I had meant, was to Kidnap my own Mouth. To rid Myself of the Burden of that Speaking, is all to Shit, in the Innards Societal Half. This Action: Hammering. To imagine, you’re inhabited by another Body, your every Hole lived within & this makes your Body ever more Beautiful, Baby. The fact remains: you’re a Filthy Sentimental Monster. Or the Sentiment: that which is Filthy, has Fallen to the Ground Down, to the World, opened Down from the Neck on Down Opens & Falls to the Floor now. All of us Fall together in The Filth of it All, Falls in a Falling Together. If there was nothing Filthed, nothing then would be considered Cleansed is only to Fall one again back into The Filth, boweling along the Slope of your Face, Silenced now. The Serene Scene of the Scaffolds the Corner of your Eye, Seen. This is a Lullaby for your Trashcan Eyes. Or, gathering ourselves Naked, in the Distance, of what our Bodies confessed it best to Fuck in Filth to Anti—Oppress The Body reflects itself as a Beautiful Mess. Where you stand in the Mouth there is The Figure, Digging it’s Head in the Dirt, tearing out a howrel, across the Setting the Sky to Dust to Dirt to Us. It is in my Bed, Swollen with Sweat that I find you with an Upset Stomach. That is a Resurgence of what Implies, there is no Cure for the Dirt of the Human Life that Awoke me. & that Shit ain’t Mine. They are showing me Pictures of what my Body would look like if they were cutting it Open. That Man is a Shuffling along a Song of Sin. The Body in here, Whores itself: A Low Prostitution of Voice. Thus, in this Form, I’m Flowered & Paroled. Thus, there is no reason to speak to me of The Body. The Filthy Fucking Dog. Place that Member, in your Mouth & run your Tongue along the Head, until your Teeth Shine, to Gnaw, to Expose the Meat squeezed till the Face falls back, the whole of the Form, shivers in Ecstasy. The Passage of which is a Rot in the Belly I got. If we are Fucking, then we are in Lust rising in an Intersection of Divination & Personal Damnation. Growling from The Depths in Admiration. “I Understand this” threatens me with Boredom & this Tremors me to my Core. Maybe somewhere in the Beginning of all this, what I had meant, was to Kidnap my own Mouth. To rid Myself of the Burden of that Speaking, is all to Shit, in the Innards Societal Half. This Action: Hammering. To imagine, you’re inhabited by another Body, your every Hole lived within & this makes your Body ever more Beautiful, Baby. The fact remains: you’re a Filthy Sentimental Monster. Or the Sentiment: that which is Filthy, has Fallen to the Ground Down, to the World, opened Down from the Neck on Down Opens & Falls to the Floor now. All of us Fall together in The Filth of it All, Falls in a Falling Together. If there was nothing Filthed, nothing then would be considered Cleansed is only to Fall one again back into The Filth, boweling along the Slope of your Face, Silenced now. The Serene Scene of the Scaffolds the Corner of your Eye, Seen. This is a Lullaby for your Trashcan Eyes. Or, gathering ourselves Naked, in the Distance, of what our Bodies confessed it best to Fuck in Filth to Anti—Oppress The Body reflects itself as a Beautiful Mess. Where you stand in the Mouth there is The Figure, Digging it’s Head in the Dirt, tearing out a howrel, across the Setting the Sky to Dust to Dirt to Us. It is in my Bed, Swollen with Sweat that I find you with an Upset Stomach. & that Shit ain’t Mine. They are showing me Pictures of what my Body would look like if they were cutting it Open. That Man is a Shuffling along a Song of Sin. The Body in here, Whores itself: A Low Prostitution of Voice. Thus, in this Form, I’m Flowered & Paroled. Thus, there is no reason to speak to me of The Body. The Filthy Fucking Dog. Place that Member, in your Mouth & run your Tongue along the Head, until your Teeth Shine, to Gnaw, to Expose the Meat squeezed till the Face falls back, the whole of the Form, shivers in Ecstasy. The Passage of which is a Rot in the Belly I got. If we are Fucking, then we are in Lust rising in an Intersection of Divination & Personal Damnation. Growling from The Depths in Admiration. “I Understand this” threatens me with Boredom & this Tremors me to my Core. Maybe somewhere in the Beginning of all this, what I had meant, was to Kidnap my own Mouth. To rid Myself of the Burden of that Speaking, is all to Shit, in the Innards Societal Half. This Action: Hammering. To imagine, you’re inhabited by another Body, your every Hole lived within & this makes your Body ever more Beautiful, Baby. The fact remains: you’re a Filthy Sentimental Monster. Or the Sentiment: that which is Filthy, has Fallen to the Ground Down, to the World, opened Down from the Neck on Down Opens & Falls to the Floor now. All of us Fall together in The Filth of it All, Falls in a Falling Together. If there was nothing Filthed, nothing then would be considered Cleansed is only to Fall one again back into The Filth, boweling along the Slope of your Face, Silenced now. The Serene Scene of the Scaffolds the Corner of your Eye, Seen. This is a Lullaby for your Trashcan Eyes. Or, gathering ourselves Naked, in the Distance, of what our Bodies confessed it best to Fuck in Filth to Anti—Oppress The Body reflects itself as a Beautiful Mess. Where you stand in the Mouth there is The Figure, Digging it’s Head in the Dirt, tearing out a howrel, across the Setting the Sky to Dust to Dirt to Us. & that Shit ain’t Mine. They are showing me Pictures of what my Body would look like if they were cutting it Open. That Man is a Shuffling along a Song of Sin. The Body in here, Whores itself: A Low Prostitution of Voice. Thus, in this Form, I’m Flowered & Paroled. Thus, there is no reason to speak to me of The Body. The Filthy Fucking Dog. Place that Member, in your Mouth & run your Tongue along the Head, until your Teeth Shine, to Gnaw, to Expose the Meat squeezed till the Face falls back, the whole of the Form, shivers in Ecstasy. The Passage of which is a Rot in the Belly I got. If we are Fucking, then we are in Lust rising in an Intersection of Divination & Personal Damnation. Growling from The Depths in Admiration. “I Understand this” threatens me with Boredom & this Tremors me to my Core. Maybe somewhere in the Beginning of all this, what I had meant, was to Kidnap my own Mouth. To rid Myself of the Burden of that Speaking, is all to Shit, in the Innards Societal Half. This Action: Hammering. To imagine, you’re inhabited by another Body, your every Hole lived within & this makes your Body ever more Beautiful, Baby. The fact remains: you’re a Filthy Sentimental Monster. Or the Sentiment: that which is Filthy, has Fallen to the Ground Down, to the World, opened Down from the Neck on Down Opens & Falls to the Floor now. All of us Fall together in The Filth of it All, Falls in a Falling Together. If there was nothing Filthed, nothing then would be considered Cleansed is only to Fall one again back into The Filth, boweling along the Slope of your Face, Silenced now. The Serene Scene of the Scaffolds the Corner of your Eye, Seen. This is a Lullaby for your Trashcan Eyes. Or, gathering ourselves Naked, in the Distance, of what our Bodies confessed it best to Fuck in Filth to Anti—Oppress The Body reflects itself as a Beautiful Mess. & that Shit ain’t Mine. They are showing me Pictures of what my Body would look like if they were cutting it Open. That Man is a Shuffling along a Song of Sin. The Body in here, Whores itself: A Low Prostitution of Voice. Thus, in this Form, I’m Flowered & Paroled. Thus, there is no reason to speak to me of The Body. The Filthy Fucking Dog. Place that Member, in your Mouth & run your Tongue along the Head, until your Teeth Shine, to Gnaw, to Expose the Meat squeezed till the Face falls back, the whole of the Form, shivers in Ecstasy. The Passage of which is a Rot in the Belly I got. If we are Fucking, then we are in Lust rising in an Intersection of Divination & Personal Damnation. Growling from The Depths in Admiration. “I Understand this” threatens me with Boredom & this Tremors me to my Core. Maybe somewhere in the Beginning of all this, what I had meant, was to Kidnap my own Mouth. To rid Myself of the Burden of that Speaking, is all to Shit, in the Innards Societal Half. This Action: Hammering. To imagine, you’re inhabited by another Body, your every Hole lived within & this makes your Body ever more Beautiful, Baby. The fact remains: you’re a Filthy Sentimental Monster. Or the Sentiment: that which is Filthy, has Fallen to the Ground Down, to the World, opened Down from the Neck on Down Opens & Falls to the Floor now. All of us Fall together in The Filth of it All, Falls in a Falling Together. If there was nothing Filthed, nothing then would be considered Cleansed is only to Fall one again back into The Filth, boweling along the Slope of your Face, Silenced now. The Serene Scene of the Scaffolds the Corner of your Eye, Seen. This is a Lullaby for your Trashcan Eyes. Or, gathering ourselves Naked, in the Distance, of what our Bodies confessed it best to Fuck in Filth to Anti—Oppress The Body reflects itself as a Beautiful Mess. & that Shit ain’t Mine. They are showing me Pictures of what my Body would look like if they were cutting it Open. That Man is a Shuffling along a Song of Sin. The Body in here, Whores itself: A Low Prostitution of Voice. Thus, in this Form, I’m Flowered & Paroled. Thus, there is no reason to speak to me of The Body. The Filthy Fucking Dog. Place that Member, in your Mouth & run your Tongue along the Head, until your Teeth Shine, to Gnaw, to Expose the Meat squeezed till the Face falls back, the whole of the Form, shivers in Ecstasy. The Passage of which is a Rot in the Belly I got. If we are Fucking, then we are in Lust rising in an Intersection of Divination & Personal Damnation. Growling from The Depths in Admiration. “I Understand this” threatens me with Boredom & this Tremors me to my Core. Maybe somewhere in the Beginning of all this, what I had meant, was to Kidnap my own Mouth. To rid Myself of the Burden of that Speaking, is all to Shit, in the Innards Societal Half. This Action: Hammering. To imagine, you’re inhabited by another Body, your every Hole lived within & this makes your Body ever more Beautiful, Baby. The fact remains: you’re a Filthy Sentimental Monster. Or the Sentiment: that which is Filthy, has Fallen to the Ground Down, to the World, opened Down from the Neck on Down Opens & Falls to the Floor now. All of us Fall together in The Filth of it All, Falls in a Falling Together. If there was nothing Filthed, nothing then would be considered Cleansed is only to Fall one again back into The Filth, boweling along the Slope of your Face, Silenced now. The Serene Scene of the Scaffolds the Corner of your Eye, Seen. This is a Lullaby for your Trashcan Eyes. & that Shit ain’t Mine. They are showing me Pictures of what my Body would look like if they were cutting it Open. That Man is a Shuffling along a Song of Sin. The Body in here, Whores itself: A Low Prostitution of Voice. Thus, in this Form, I’m Flowered & Paroled. Thus, there is no reason to speak to me of The Body. The Filthy Fucking Dog. Place that Member, in your Mouth & run your Tongue along the Head, until your Teeth Shine, to Gnaw, to Expose the Meat squeezed till the Face falls back, the whole of the Form, shivers in Ecstasy. The Passage of which is a Rot in the Belly I got. If we are Fucking, then we are in Lust rising in an Intersection of Divination & Personal Damnation. Growling from The Depths in Admiration. “I Understand this” threatens me with Boredom & this Tremors me to my Core. Maybe somewhere in the Beginning of all this, what I had meant, was to Kidnap my own Mouth. To rid Myself of the Burden of that Speaking, is all to Shit, in the Innards Societal Half. This Action: Hammering. To imagine, you’re inhabited by another Body, your every Hole lived within & this makes your Body ever more Beautiful, Baby. The fact remains: you’re a Filthy Sentimental Monster. Or the Sentiment: that which is Filthy, has Fallen to the Ground Down, to the World, opened Down from the Neck on Down Opens & Falls to the Floor now. All of us Fall together in The Filth of it All, Falls in a Falling Together. If there was nothing Filthed, nothing then would be considered Cleansed is only to Fall one again back into The Filth, boweling along the Slope of your Face, Silenced now. The Serene Scene of the Scaffolds the Corner of your Eye, Seen. & that Shit ain’t Mine. They are showing me Pictures of what my Body would look like if they were cutting it Open. That Man is a Shuffling along a Song of Sin. The Body in here, Whores itself: A Low Prostitution of Voice. Thus, in this Form, I’m Flowered & Paroled. Thus, there is no reason to speak to me of The Body. The Filthy Fucking Dog. Place that Member, in your Mouth & run your Tongue along the Head, until your Teeth Shine, to Gnaw, to Expose the Meat squeezed till the Face falls back, the whole of the Form, shivers in Ecstasy. The Passage of which is a Rot in the Belly I got. If we are Fucking, then we are in Lust rising in an Intersection of Divination & Personal Damnation. Growling from The Depths in Admiration. “I Understand this” threatens me with Boredom & this Tremors me to my Core. Maybe somewhere in the Beginning of all this, what I had meant, was to Kidnap my own Mouth. To rid Myself of the Burden of that Speaking, is all to Shit, in the Innards Societal Half. This Action: Hammering. To imagine, you’re inhabited by another Body, your every Hole lived within & this makes your Body ever more Beautiful, Baby. The fact remains: you’re a Filthy Sentimental Monster. Or the Sentiment: that which is Filthy, has Fallen to the Ground Down, to the World, opened Down from the Neck on Down Opens & Falls to the Floor now. All of us Fall together in The Filth of it All, Falls in a Falling Together. If there was nothing Filthed, nothing then would be considered Cleansed is only to Fall one again back into The Filth, boweling along the Slope of your Face, Silenced now. & that Shit ain’t Mine. They are showing me Pictures of what my Body would look like if they were cutting it Open. That Man is a Shuffling along a Song of Sin. The Body in here, Whores itself: A Low Prostitution of Voice. Thus, in this Form, I’m Flowered & Paroled. Thus, there is no reason to speak to me of The Body. The Filthy Fucking Dog. Place that Member, in your Mouth & run your Tongue along the Head, until your Teeth Shine, to Gnaw, to Expose the Meat squeezed till the Face falls back, the whole of the Form, shivers in Ecstasy. The Passage of which is a Rot in the Belly I got. If we are Fucking, then we are in Lust rising in an Intersection of Divination & Personal Damnation. Growling from The Depths in Admiration. “I Understand this” threatens me with Boredom & this Tremors me to my Core. Maybe somewhere in the Beginning of all this, what I had meant, was to Kidnap my own Mouth. To rid Myself of the Burden of that Speaking, is all to Shit, in the Innards Societal Half. This Action: Hammering. To imagine, you’re inhabited by another Body, your every Hole lived within & this makes your Body ever more Beautiful, Baby. The fact remains: you’re a Filthy Sentimental Monster. Or the Sentiment: that which is Filthy, has Fallen to the Ground Down, to the World, opened Down from the Neck on Down Opens & Falls to the Floor now. All of us Fall together in The Filth of it All, Falls in a Falling Together. & that Shit ain’t Mine. They are showing me Pictures of what my Body would look like if they were cutting it Open. That Man is a Shuffling along a Song of Sin. The Body in here, Whores itself: A Low Prostitution of Voice. Thus, in this Form, I’m Flowered & Paroled. Thus, there is no reason to speak to me of The Body. The Filthy Fucking Dog. Place that Member, in your Mouth & run your Tongue along the Head, until your Teeth Shine, to Gnaw, to Expose the Meat squeezed till the Face falls back, the whole of the Form, shivers in Ecstasy. The Passage of which is a Rot in the Belly I got. If we are Fucking, then we are in Lust rising in an Intersection of Divination & Personal Damnation. Growling from The Depths in Admiration. “I Understand this” threatens me with Boredom & this Tremors me to my Core. Maybe somewhere in the Beginning of all this, what I had meant, was to Kidnap my own Mouth. To rid Myself of the Burden of that Speaking, is all to Shit, in the Innards Societal Half. This Action: Hammering. To imagine, you’re inhabited by another Body, your every Hole lived within & this makes your Body ever more Beautiful, Baby. The fact remains: you’re a Filthy Sentimental Monster. Or the Sentiment: that which is Filthy, has Fallen to the Ground Down, to the World, opened Down from the Neck on Down Opens & Falls to the Floor now. & that Shit ain’t Mine. They are showing me Pictures of what my Body would look like if they were cutting it Open. That Man is a Shuffling along a Song of Sin. The Body in here, Whores itself: A Low Prostitution of Voice. Thus, in this Form, I’m Flowered & Paroled. Thus, there is no reason to speak to me of The Body. The Filthy Fucking Dog. Place that Member, in your Mouth & run your Tongue along the Head, until your Teeth Shine, to Gnaw, to Expose the Meat squeezed till the Face falls back, the whole of the Form, shivers in Ecstasy. The Passage of which is a Rot in the Belly I got. If we are Fucking, then we are in Lust rising in an Intersection of Divination & Personal Damnation. Growling from The Depths in Admiration. “I Understand this” threatens me with Boredom & this Tremors me to my Core. Maybe somewhere in the Beginning of all this, what I had meant, was to Kidnap my own Mouth. To rid Myself of the Burden of that Speaking, is all to Shit, in the Innards Societal Half. This Action: Hammering. To imagine, you’re inhabited by another Body, your every Hole lived within & this makes your Body ever more Beautiful, Baby. The fact remains: you’re a Filthy Sentimental Monster. & that Shit ain’t Mine. They are showing me Pictures of what my Body would look like if they were cutting it Open. That Man is a Shuffling along a Song of Sin. The Body in here, Whores itself: A Low Prostitution of Voice. Thus, in this Form, I’m Flowered & Paroled. Thus, there is no reason to speak to me of The Body. The Filthy Fucking Dog. Place that Member, in your Mouth & run your Tongue along the Head, until your Teeth Shine, to Gnaw, to Expose the Meat squeezed till the Face falls back, the whole of the Form, shivers in Ecstasy. The Passage of which is a Rot in the Belly I got. If we are Fucking, then we are in Lust rising in an Intersection of Divination & Personal Damnation. Growling from The Depths in Admiration. “I Understand this” threatens me with Boredom & this Tremors me to my Core. Maybe somewhere in the Beginning of all this, what I had meant, was to Kidnap my own Mouth. To rid Myself of the Burden of that Speaking, is all to Shit, in the Innards Societal Half. This Action: Hammering. To imagine, you’re inhabited by another Body, your every Hole lived within & this makes your Body ever more Beautiful, Baby. & that Shit ain’t Mine. They are showing me Pictures of what my Body would look like if they were cutting it Open. That Man is a Shuffling along a Song of Sin. The Body in here, Whores itself: A Low Prostitution of Voice. Thus, in this Form, I’m Flowered & Paroled. Thus, there is no reason to speak to me of The Body. The Filthy Fucking Dog. Place that Member, in your Mouth & run your Tongue along the Head, until your Teeth Shine, to Gnaw, to Expose the Meat squeezed till the Face falls back, the whole of the Form, shivers in Ecstasy. The Passage of which is a Rot in the Belly I got. If we are Fucking, then we are in Lust rising in an Intersection of Divination & Personal Damnation. Growling from The Depths in Admiration. “I Understand this” threatens me with Boredom & this Tremors me to my Core. Maybe somewhere in the Beginning of all this, what I had meant, was to Kidnap my own Mouth. To rid Myself of the Burden of that Speaking, is all to Shit, in the Innards Societal Half. This Action: Hammering. & that Shit ain’t Mine. They are showing me Pictures of what my Body would look like if they were cutting it Open. That Man is a Shuffling along a Song of Sin. The Body in here, Whores itself: A Low Prostitution of Voice. Thus, in this Form, I’m Flowered & Paroled. Thus, there is no reason to speak to me of The Body. The Filthy Fucking Dog. Place that Member, in your Mouth & run your Tongue along the Head, until your Teeth Shine, to Gnaw, to Expose the Meat squeezed till the Face falls back, the whole of the Form, shivers in Ecstasy. The Passage of which is a Rot in the Belly I got. If we are Fucking, then we are in Lust rising in an Intersection of Divination & Personal Damnation. Growling from The Depths in Admiration. “I Understand this” threatens me with Boredom & this Tremors me to my Core. Maybe somewhere in the Beginning of all this, what I had meant, was to Kidnap my own Mouth. To rid Myself of the Burden of that Speaking, is all to Shit, in the Innards Societal Half. & that Shit ain’t Mine. They are showing me Pictures of what my Body would look like if they were cutting it Open. That Man is a Shuffling along a Song of Sin. The Body in here, Whores itself: A Low Prostitution of Voice. Thus, in this Form, I’m Flowered & Paroled. Thus, there is no reason to speak to me of The Body. The Filthy Fucking Dog. Place that Member, in your Mouth & run your Tongue along the Head, until your Teeth Shine, to Gnaw, to Expose the Meat squeezed till the Face falls back, the whole of the Form, shivers in Ecstasy. The Passage of which is a Rot in the Belly I got. If we are Fucking, then we are in Lust rising in an Intersection of Divination & Personal Damnation. Growling from The Depths in Admiration. “I Understand this” threatens me with Boredom & this Tremors me to my Core. Maybe somewhere in the Beginning of all this, what I had meant, was to Kidnap my own Mouth. & that Shit ain’t Mine. They are showing me Pictures of what my Body would look like if they were cutting it Open. That Man is a Shuffling along a Song of Sin. The Body in here, Whores itself: A Low Prostitution of Voice. Thus, in this Form, I’m Flowered & Paroled. Thus, there is no reason to speak to me of The Body. The Filthy Fucking Dog. Place that Member, in your Mouth & run your Tongue along the Head, until your Teeth Shine, to Gnaw, to Expose the Meat squeezed till the Face falls back, the whole of the Form, shivers in Ecstasy. The Passage of which is a Rot in the Belly I got. If we are Fucking, then we are in Lust rising in an Intersection of Divination & Personal Damnation. Growling from The Depths in Admiration. “I Understand this” threatens me with Boredom & this Tremors me to my Core. & that Shit ain’t Mine. They are showing me Pictures of what my Body would look like if they were cutting it Open. That Man is a Shuffling along a Song of Sin. The Body in here, Whores itself: A Low Prostitution of Voice. Thus, in this Form, I’m Flowered & Paroled. Thus, there is no reason to speak to me of The Body. The Filthy Fucking Dog. Place that Member, in your Mouth & run your Tongue along the Head, until your Teeth Shine, to Gnaw, to Expose the Meat squeezed till the Face falls back, the whole of the Form, shivers in Ecstasy. The Passage of which is a Rot in the Belly I got. If we are Fucking, then we are in Lust rising in an Intersection of Divination & Personal Damnation. Growling from The Depths in Admiration. & that Shit ain’t Mine. They are showing me Pictures of what my Body would look like if they were cutting it Open. That Man is a Shuffling along a Song of Sin. The Body in here, Whores itself: A Low Prostitution of Voice. Thus, in this Form, I’m Flowered & Paroled. Thus, there is no reason to speak to me of The Body. The Filthy Fucking Dog. Place that Member, in your Mouth & run your Tongue along the Head, until your Teeth Shine, to Gnaw, to Expose the Meat squeezed till the Face falls back, the whole of the Form, shivers in Ecstasy. The Passage of which is a Rot in the Belly I got. If we are Fucking, then we are in Lust rising in an Intersection of Divination & Personal Damnation. & that Shit ain’t Mine. They are showing me Pictures of what my Body would look like if they were cutting it Open. That Man is a Shuffling along a Song of Sin. The Body in here, Whores itself: A Low Prostitution of Voice. Thus, in this Form, I’m Flowered & Paroled. Thus, there is no reason to speak to me of The Body. The Filthy Fucking Dog. Place that Member, in your Mouth & run your Tongue along the Head, until your Teeth Shine, to Gnaw, to Expose the Meat squeezed till the Face falls back, the whole of the Form, shivers in Ecstasy. The Passage of which is a Rot in the Belly I got. & that Shit ain’t Mine. They are showing me Pictures of what my Body would look like if they were cutting it Open. That Man is a Shuffling along a Song of Sin. The Body in here, Whores itself: A Low Prostitution of Voice. Thus, in this Form, I’m Flowered & Paroled. Thus, there is no reason to speak to me of The Body. The Filthy Fucking Dog. Place that Member, in your Mouth & run your Tongue along the Head, until your Teeth Shine, to Gnaw, to Expose the Meat squeezed till the Face falls back, the whole of the Form, shivers in Ecstasy. & that Shit ain’t Mine. They are showing me Pictures of what my Body would look like if they were cutting it Open. That Man is a Shuffling along a Song of Sin. The Body in here, Whores itself: A Low Prostitution of Voice. Thus, in this Form, I’m Flowered & Paroled. Thus, there is no reason to speak to me of The Body. The Filthy Fucking Dog. & that Shit ain’t Mine. They are showing me Pictures of what my Body would look like if they were cutting it Open. That Man is a Shuffling along a Song of Sin. The Body in here, Whores itself: A Low Prostitution of Voice. Thus, in this Form, I’m Flowered & Paroled. Thus, there is no reason to speak to me of The Body. & that Shit ain’t Mine. They are showing me Pictures of what my Body would look like if they were cutting it Open. That Man is a Shuffling along a Song of Sin. The Body in here, Whores itself: A Low Prostitution of Voice. Thus, in this Form, I’m Flowered & Paroled. & that Shit ain’t Mine. They are showing me Pictures of what my Body would look like if they were cutting it Open. That Man is a Shuffling along a Song of Sin. The Body in here, Whores itself: A Low Prostitution of Voice. & that Shit ain’t Mine. They are showing me Pictures of what my Body would look like if they were cutting it Open. & that Shit ain’t Mine.