Thursday, December 12, 2013

Queen of France

gypsy or a quaker?

Getting into violence and another reason,
aside from religious containments...


Into recess, the gene-info rolls in,
redhaired children have a new something there.

Parents can be of any type of hair.

Colored blue, green or black
defer defer... another attack.

Tough one to live with,
in the time of no know,
only a basket...
mrs doorstep droppee.
blame it to some filthy gypsy.
a flower power without a start,

blame it on a stoic quaker,
livin' on a quake,
a have-to, get rid of it,
before they throw their darts. 

A night drop,
living-in imagines told,
a little extra chill,
chill-out in the cold.

A tiny witch wearing
a reg-in only ever
a dangerous red-gold.

Can't really hide it,
goes everywhere she goes.

"red hair, just hide it away, hide it away,
show some respect for your new mother-sitter
the one who cooks and cleans."

Mother wears a frown,
it was a basket drop
not from her slutting around.

that way would have been better,
a forest to go back to and entertain.

into the unspoken... what do you wear?
why that color of hair?


2 sons, and now a daughter?
get real, this is a hate game
who is the ruiner of this mans' astral plane?

Take the sons in, as an army fresh,
"you do my bidding at every request."

Did you oversight or relook at me,
what's that snipe up,
are you trying to leader me?

Eyes down girl, eyes down.
this dude is junkin-in,
he is manchurian emperor time,
rules of the gorilla,
that is the way it will always be.

Never cry, never in front,
try to get a little artsy.

Lost it didn't you, your art table first.
Too big, a statement, owning a seat
a judges bench on the side,
whats with her,
Go paint outside,
its at least monet time now,
not some plymouth rocker craftin' inside.

want reality?

"this is my life,
a mutinizer speckin eyes in,
at my throne.
a takeover child,
as if its her home."

your a god damn witch,
just go to sleep,
in your little bathtub bed upstairs,
its pillow sided, and totally fair.
"comfortable, thank you father,
I love my new bed.

Thank you daddy,
pillows on the side,
I'm a princess,
living in the land of your wonderful care." 

the claws are painted aren't they?
to re-remind...
its flower power now,
a time where guitars freely struum,
not a tabernacle of glee clubic power.

a gypsy or a quaker, am I bi-polar now?

they're just retarded mormons, what else can i do,
lets practice philosphy live on these 4 few.

how fun, how fun,
thier redheads,
a total free play,

dang it,
with that fatherly anger though,
what a wishy life.

too many stars... i wished into,
letting that other group of celebs,
over-rise, hitlering movie propaganda
for more than the years of a few.

is this funny?
sinking dreams of the little witcha,
probably birthed somewhere in kansas
and now i have to feed her?

where's the proof, the proof its mine,
its sadisticly turned into
proof of ownership,
from a fortune-tellers rhyme.

cancel flower power,
its a total trick,
a love child, again and curly thick?

"a blood test", run one and all
a blood test will conquer our demanding call.

These are not my children,
yet I have to drive them around,
no way,

does this happen theyre practical fleas,
what is going on, are you talking back to me.

Who cares the plated scar
forever worn on your brothers face,
thats my option, and my decide,

talking back to me,
he was wording-over,
hair overgrowing and on the show of extra long,
a practical girl-as-a-boy for all to see.
a girl, across from the table wording out against me?

get out of here,
too rich in your overdecides,
it's my table and it's my life.

They're my plates, and my forks to fly,

a time spent long ago,
let it go,
let it go.

They're good and trimmed-up men now.

what's this church, what is the religion called?

money, mr spriro
money is their god.