Pretty brain dead today.
Tomorrow too.
Not yesterday though.
Yesterday I danced until my brain died.
Red couch here.
It's crooked and misshapen.
like I am.
I can only think that I could make it redder. Bleeding out might force my brain to come back.
I'd let you cut me.
Phoenix aint got nothing on me.
Ash on the floor there to prove it.
From our resurrection
I hope.
Could just be a pile of ash and cigarettes someone tripped on while dancing and dying
That's probably it.
Sorry Phoenix
Bob Dylan told us not to think twice
I don't think at all.
It's alright.
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