In the wake of my Naproxen lullaby
An interruption is gradually lured...

So many troubles
For young and old on this site...

In the grey morning
They dance in the tickling air...

You pitiful morons
Who love to beg in your title...

Backseat
No windows there...

Revolted of this peanut butter atmosphere
And the exaggeration of summer fun...

All's a waste of ink need not have spilled
For these pages of remedy are now scratched and...

Studded with
Insecurities, and encrusted with...

Bullets whispering in their ears
They are young ones, they do not know...

Sigh
The fallen leaves...

Sleep totters away
Like an unattended child...

Crazy bus driver
I only want to go home...