The Heart's Deadly Everything

Thirsty animals
upon the Missouri Earth,
for it's night out
and I have a fat lip
for tasting from the female fountain.

I'm walking under a hawk
the next day on a nice stay
in a land of love,
and the TV is blowing
while drugs are growing
in my mind.

The gal is gone
and I hate my posture,
so I drink with dead poets
and my breath smells
like a medical instrument.

Delete the end of this shit
and listen to emo music
on the couch, a couch,
because life is short
and any couch will do.