Native Hey Mon Hook Me Up 'do
These lips are chapped, distorted words.
Excuses, oh my, my conscious!
Acceptance. My sorrow’s their humor.
This face, that face.
The paint has gone dry but I’ll still paint.
This blank canvas wins the spotlight.
Buy the attention, sell disposition.
How can’t you see, that there is a curb?
Auction your weapon and call it a year.
