Leave the gun take the cannoli, my MO Leave the Son, trace the unholy to its hole AM I’m unpenting a phlegm rope Before my breathing holes’re off wrote PM never absenting, going off road A jewel-hemmed robe afore my heathen host In my north room, the Goat loft.
Crossed wrath-tossed oceans for the most commotional crow and dro That kicking foot, Goliath stood Dutch growers could hope to sow Overeem passport, half the store up my hole. I get it past for sport In dreams I’m revisited by the physical remnants of burnt passports.
Frank admission, my issue’s rarely regard drug acquisition Attained standing and position by preying on addiction Hug my missus before heading out on business She bugs me about staying clean, hitting books My crooked books are cooked, worried we might be bugged Circle of salt, not warding off slug assaults on my bergenias Too dug… Read more: Having it
Hi, I’m Mike and I’m a corruption sponge. What else explains satisfactorily my ill gains Despite all the pain I’ve caused, the wrong I’ve done. Blood on the illuminated pages rubies in the sun, The monk rather erupted, He who oft spoke up when another evoked hush. That work is never done, of turning to… Read more: 33 with ground to gain
Alchemisland 
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