Conversation with Centipedes and Millipedes from the Anariarchs Garden
Though love lost as sickly raine, our thoughts now do beguile. Of sundered hill and bask'd incense, we cradle now a humble foot; that some misuse to guide the able mind. Yet as it skitters about, on large planks of forgotten flesh, it slowly burrows deeper, to the bee's knees and decompilers alike. Once in, it merely waits, to drop subtle 'cid on the Ethers heaven scent. Once disposed and once unearthed it ravages land and air alike. With plague born spores it chokes and weaves, turning life's prize inside and out. What was once beauty is now ensnared by hate and what was peaceful, has fallen out of favor. Through those that give up the hearts desire, the spores are most unkind. Turned into monstrous behemoths to roam and wander in lust. Yet deeper still, should a heart fail, the centipede drops it's best vitriol; an equal mix of madness and innocence.
-So says the Centipede
The stairwell in the T.V
leads to Sydney, New York.
Where pigs do plays
on Broadway's stage
to many masquerades
And coke is foreplay,
meth is pennies and the
rich are blown all day
The wild are gay, so cynics say
with a log up their clear
And here you stand all tattered-and-tote
concerned greatly for a toke.
So take a look, who gives a flute
spark up your dank tonight.
Case it's 2am, so early I say
where you'd think you'd be New York
A fool I say, so yay'd on 'yay'
The York is actually Los Angeles.
Cause your a fool, to think aloud
that York can take the fun.
No they can't, cross-dressing freaks,
east is gay, North is ehh,
and the souths at Home Depot, so hooray, L.A!
-So says the Millipede