Testo The Four Winds

I never don't float with the four winds
Sweat cold, piss warm, make horror films
No doors on the force field
Radio a head
I log any palpitation of the web
With a raven or angel of death
Entertainment or threat
By the end you're a savory crepe Models that mar every orbit and corner, it's war
There's more exhibition than voyeur or voyee
Cold dawn mist incarnate
Every day I wake up in a different carcass
If I climb out quiet I'm made before tea
I see no need to initial this tree
I seem to have run out of skin on my teeth
I look like, I feel like a fish in a beak
I look like a dick in my picture I.D
But also the pic isn't me, huh

Sideways rain that chew the zoot up
OK losing a shoe in the mud
OK losing a shoe in the mud
OK losing a shoe in the mud Sideways rain that chew the roof through
Home by 12:00 in two shoes
Home by 12:00 in two shoes
Home by 12:00 in two shoes

If you cultivate the grid that make ya fold the face
The brick that make a bolt escape the fist
Some days on the road to make he miss
And make the hold on the probe equate to piss
Blood rain, I'm the face of the forecast
Talk through space like a blade through stored fat
Graze over the gate in the gourd fest
Ain't really played to the neighborly format
Great, faded adventuring out of his norm is a lesson in mapping the doors
Anything more in the lap of the gods
Anything less an imbalance ignored
Seems like even the rag-tag grab bag
Raise eyebrows when your rat pack quack quack
Spit fires that kiss the pitch dark
He rows a big oar
He spins a grim yarn

Sideways rain that chew the zoot up
OK losing a shoe in the mud
OK losing a shoe in the mud
OK losing a shoe in the mud
Sideways rain that chew the roof through
Home by 12:00 in two shoes
Home by 12:00 in two shoes
Home by 12:00 in two shoes
Sideways rain that chew the zoot up
OK losing a shoe in the mud
OK losing a shoe in the mud
OK losing a shoe in the mud
Sideways rain that chew the roof through
Home by 12:00 in two shoes
Home by 12:00 in two shoes
Home

The one with the red cross braid on the door and the mountain of mail on the porch
The one with the pit trap cloaked in the grass and the thick black smoke from the cracks
The one with the werewolf chained to a tree and a circle of flames at your feet
The one with the ominous region of lore
Why? Which one's yours?
Ignore that, don't care
Toast the march of uncombed hair
Came from beyond the red coals and road flares
X O, bring his own moat to the social
I'm so stand offish, nobody's whole sale
Don't, just just just just don't
Pull to the flames, well push to the rope
I get the hooks in, I hold the helm down
I stand the hell up, I see myself out