Grasping shits, all over my hands, squeezing, stinking, wherever it lands, finger in my anus, is all I really know, becomes my best friend and my greatest foe, as the night falls and the rain never stops, as the paths are all slimy, they're the best that I've got, is there noone straight on this crooked earth? as we live bad lives right from our blessed births.
Someone's gotta make the Baby Jesus look good. I'm too bad to mention Him, more than I should, but at least I'm rememberimg more than before, Lying in the wet sand, on the dark and coldest shore, with sand in my trousers and a bruise on my head, at least I'm still here, and I'm not yet dead.
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