Edited Notes Pt. 1

criss crossed patterns
a dead hooker's arm
tattoos of a knife fuck
overzealous with the tattoo gun
clip's out, keep shooting.

a softer sound
keeps the vultures in house
shot to the ground

grass pulls through
fuck pavement, brick, shoes
I'll collect your honesty
like I hold on to cigarette butts
necklace or noose, it's up to you
ethics or ethnicity
got a wholesale diet of carbon times three

dance beat
no streets
no words to make a punch
no hunch to speak of
a mild dystopia, look it's Utopia
don't have the language to split it

everybody makes your history true