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—The Port of Palais, Belle Ile Henri Matisse, 1896.
open doors in bare walls and close psyche the knob pulled already tried might be tired it's smell of tequila welcomed my tiny nose thus, scent that makes me swift and weak
blank face and expression surprise me full of chaos that making my eyes blind everywhere bottles, cans are scattered innocent ground tiles filled with the stain.
bet classic and keep calling me señorita I don't have doubt on this kind of mercy suddenly the breeze become less wild how I dream about the hours fill me in right now flames turns smoke till grime
the chorus sounds absence look nympho maybe relish thirsty vampire hollow fangs acts always insist never been interested can't push instead left liquor didn't waste.
