Byline: Radiation Gumdrops

Buford Youthward

Seducing your attention with a nightmare jungle of empty sensation, no worries, it's just another cut up kid tryin' to cope.

Churches of story, transforming. The half life of half meanings is endless.

Kids will always have to deal with the issues of their parents. We are party to our past. The dance of the city sends us, going from no place to nowhere.

Human destiny correlates with production density. A crack becomes a source of light. I become somebody else, je est un autre.

Facets of consciousness, my desire, my fire kindles as a symphony of well rehearsed sins emerges inside the plot.

The plotters' satisfactions' guaranteed for everything they need, straight into the stampede, no way they won't succeed.

There will always be a tomorrow, no matter the sky drools radiation gumdrops. Just as there will always be angry complaints raised from all stations.

The sweetest perfect everything sends my signal spinning. I come to get content with the idea that contentment between agonies is the elixir of existence.

Growing your abilities grows your options. Plant good seeds. Paint sacred art. Shedding secrets soothes your heart. Sex in the cemetery salves your soul.

Money may not buy happiness but it fixes lots of problems. Generate the capital to buy yourself out of your situation, out of sticky circumstance.

Your best friend starts out as your worst enemy blessing you with the best curses. You can't have one without the other between my legs hangs your mother.

Consigning the past to perdition and scattering its shards to the wind leaves the best heads breathless with indignation.

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