Soul caged with a mind like fine wine and green cheese, old aged. Last bracelet I've worn complements of the county. 100 yard dash full speed trying to leave my past as it remains on my ass like diaper rash. My brain's stained with the guilt and pain of long doing wrong. Fueled by octane, slowed down by years of moving -------. Cultured as a missionary, white man in a black suit mixing race's like a fast Olympian. Torch to carry is cold and less weight then the burden of being uncertain of the date she's returning. Troubled, confusion is doubled by the substances I quit using yet I keep cell loosing. -LIV
Porsche Cayenne Turbo
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