Once more for Mon Cheri, her famous psyche massage therapist – split
I was pointing out – what’s the point of women as no use retarded females
Now I’m on a road’s hill, waiting with bloodless legs, but not for this new woman wearing Halloween, a face-presser on car windows, a stranger toil
I won’t embrace her, but loosen up the handbrake and run her over, a living fossil from Kaiser Wilhelm’s Institute for the Unloved
The real two reconvened, and I embraced my headcase X, my ‘She’, she who took her oval pill to give me back recovery and spit
My cells divided


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