home
is not a house. Not a house but a home.
treasure
is running through my veins, dripping from the flesh of a not-yet-to-die misbelief. I ain’t seeing nothing more than fruits in a jar.
fame
Came, junkie whore, whispering and carpenter.
engine
When you re like a car in the water, with a broke down E, then you got no driving wheels (hey! Paula D. ?).
wisdom
The corkscrew of what? is somehow defined somewhere. I say why on everything but when I spit.
heroes
One eyed Sugar Joe, followers of the scarred fag’, my knitter, fancy Mary, Captain Seahorse, my dear ‘burning low lands orientated’ Wolfman. All of them, softly caring the weight of the world on their oh! so tiny shoulders.
time journey
Traitor’s call maybe. But got no legitimacy in the life that’s gone, right?
sacrifice
Boy, so weak and naive…
vice
I tend to wait for useless answers from unnamed persons.
cats/dogs
I curse Mr D’s purety, unexpected strenght, not so wanted stand-up acts.