my foggy telekinetic thighs with skin falling like cornflakes from upside down milk bowls glued to the ceiling your milk was wearing it’s lactose inside out my milk was dried up in the sun. your curtains draw diagrams and charts fashion shows armored mannequins carefully riveted self conscious mascara ammunition along with chubby make-up artists and visions of a better tomorrow my troops were marching in ballroom shoes my army is lactose intolerant fertile ground for panzer cows.
sha-la-la
bottles and cans and just clap your hands