I was five and he was six
We rode on horses made of sticks
He wore black and I wore white
He would always win the fight
Bang bang he shot me down
Bang bang I hit the ground
Bang bang that awful sound
Bang bang my baby shot me down. . .
They say akili ni nywele but what does Medusa have to say for herself? With Her mane of snakes with minds of their own, who can blame her for building a Tower of Babel inside her head? Five hundred Garden of Edens in that cold-blooded Afro. He said forgive seventy times seven but She'll still have ten forked tongues to lick at her conscience.
Interesting how hard it is for you to divorce your guilt. You know, just scream "Talak talak talak what the fuck!" Instead you bury it in the Sahara Desert marked by a hologram of a bleeding heart. Beware you could mislead the takshifs who'll also lead the Three Wise Men to the wrong manger where the servants of Isis frequent to copulate in the sand.
Now, after the first emotional single and video doesn't sell that well, people go back to their cranial studios to work on a second release. The remix comes out as wack as the book to film release of Harry Potter. Still sounding the same no matter how many hooks you steal. Better sell one record than blow up with some fake bass in your voice.
In the shadow of the valley of death, I shalt fear no weevils. Better eat the damn things and stay alive. A wand in hand ain't nothing compared to a rose in the bush. With the wand you can just whine all the wussy crap from a book I have just mentioned but you will just end up with Ali Baba and forty orgasms. I can think of a thousand plus things to do with a rose bush. . .
The door bell rings thrice, just as I had professored. Cutest Pointy Pilot I have ever seen. Daddy, why hast thou passed this cup of Sangria to me? The next tot whips my brain back up. Helped me carry her cross-legs to the hill. Nailed me to her at 175 degrees. It is done. Her temple curtain ripped in two with the lights off. Asketh; "What have WE done?"