Cut my hair with a kitchen knife, he Was a blindfolded visionary. everything And nothing was going on in his precious Head, overfed on
Chemicals and conversation
A speeding train without a station
Crashed at my event-horizon
Feeling for the switch to turn his eyes on. And in the news, they have to say he is a Blinfolded visionary. I scrape the clouds Of rouge from his face and he's white as Noise.
Version imprimable
