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∆ ∆ ∆ ∆

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∆

It's starting to spit a bit ∆

I like the sound of it ∆ ∆

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On sunny days, the green grass seems to breath

The leaves on trees giggle while they shimmy to a sleepy,

yawning wind.

A grumpy ever green is happy closest to the sky and

I think there's something to this nonsense.

And the man on the moon

satisfied with watching

bore still and silent witness to it's decay

He took no responsibility for the mess he'd made

and blamed the cook instead

He claimed group mentality for his failure to act

and pinned global warming on Big Foot.

Satan was the culprit, Scientology the evil.

There was guilt on the face of the man on the moon.
You might've seen it too, were it not for that great mushroom in the sky.

There's a mirror in your mind and it's broken; I broke it.

Tricky tears trace escape routes down cranky cheeks.
Your harddrive hemorrhages, confused

and you spit up what's left of your crooked cross

like broken teeth.

A soul surfaces and slows to a sloppy stop at your open mouth.

With your diet, who knows if it's your own.

a grinding halt says your mouth is mechanical

Fresh air meets fresh wound,first love, erosion in reverse
Now look at the monster I have made