your backpack is filled with eyes

u interest me, i'm yellow
i love private dicks that angle
nine carats of dreamy uproar
because he sneezes his torch
burns happy, because i am real
estate i am fit to bite, wringing her
your halo, because i feel this
tell her your temper, tell her your
backpack is filled with eyes
god of prosciutto truth torch me
just then, ears of zion, pardon
the puppet, disc jocky, disc jockey
disc jockey, pardon the dish
cowards with a dream
terrible engine of prosciutto
chilling genealogy walking
a hideous smile, hell yes
i want to get out, water bottles
in the toddler air, i am blue
for his hand