Official DUP NaPo/GloProWrimo 2018
27/30
Inside
They see the dresses and the sheer things.
Lipstick bright purple to merlot.
See her smile at the sunlight,
Blue skies -
And sigh at sunsets,
Warm up to night lights.
From her flipping through pages and playing with ink,
They see bright.
Brainy wordy.
A few moments they see the deviant
Taking flight.
She sings.
She followed the notes and learned to play with them,
She basks in her Disney tunes and
Writhes in her rock imaginings.
She's ever hurting.
Sparkly thing,
Beautiful thing,
They cannot see her decaying.
28/30
Photo
I saw a photo that reminded me of you.
It was evident, the struggle and pain.
The harshness of the days,
Mud and rain,
The crudeness of night and lonely.
I wonder,
If it were that time,
If you would've kept a photo of me.
If you would've given me yours to keep in a locket.
Your words had covered me in every encounter -
Unlike any other.
They were gunshots and thunder in a city in hiding,
In a lonely diner,
In an open window to world beyond and
World after
You.
There are wounds I couldn't heal.
But I hoped I was a tenderness that wrapped around
And comforted you -
A tenderness that silenced your lonely notes,
Or maybe joined their harmony -
Played a new blue.
Even just for a while…
*Still catching up...
Inside
They see the dresses and the sheer things.
Lipstick bright purple to merlot.
See her smile at the sunlight,
Blue skies -
And sigh at sunsets,
Warm up to night lights.
From her flipping through pages and playing with ink,
They see bright.
Brainy wordy.
A few moments they see the deviant
Taking flight.
She sings.
She followed the notes and learned to play with them,
She basks in her Disney tunes and
Writhes in her rock imaginings.
She's ever hurting.
Sparkly thing,
Beautiful thing,
They cannot see her decaying.
28/30
Photo
I saw a photo that reminded me of you.
It was evident, the struggle and pain.
The harshness of the days,
Mud and rain,
The crudeness of night and lonely.
I wonder,
If it were that time,
If you would've kept a photo of me.
If you would've given me yours to keep in a locket.
Your words had covered me in every encounter -
Unlike any other.
They were gunshots and thunder in a city in hiding,
In a lonely diner,
In an open window to world beyond and
World after
You.
There are wounds I couldn't heal.
But I hoped I was a tenderness that wrapped around
And comforted you -
A tenderness that silenced your lonely notes,
Or maybe joined their harmony -
Played a new blue.
Even just for a while…
*Still catching up...
Gossip ‘Cross the Dinner Table *29 /30
(With a smattering of Alphabetic Alliterations)
THE BARNSTABLE STOCK & TRADE
(Founded circa: 1822) $1.25 US, $1.62 CAN/ a copy.
Circulation: 8,703. Add 12 more if you count the cardboard settlement on the river bottom under the 4th Street bridge.
Today’s forecast was set for hot. This evening will be less hot. There’ll be a quarter moon on the wane. Tomorrow’s first light will be at 5:32AM.
Bringing you the latest in our daily evening special edition.
And some of you might still be wondering why we went exclusively evening last month. Here’s a most recent example:
• Liberty, our luscious transplant with the overbite lisp who moved here from Lawrence two years ago and is engaged to Phil the best mechanic in these parts.
Well, Ms Liberty (not the statue) is a fine little cook. But Mr Phil (known to his garage buddies as Reese ‘cause it rhymes with ‘grease’) being in such demand all day, he waits and in fact has come to prefer opening up an evening BARNSTABLE (ever since we went evenings)
while his dear mother Lois serves him some of the tastiest suppers that ever graced a family’s table or bachelor’s free-standing TV tray. (Phil’s is made of metal with a picture of one of those covered wood bridges that one hardly ever sees nowadays).
He knows how fortunate he is till he’s the recipient of his future bride’s culinary talents, ‘cause Lois retains water something fierce at her age, and standing so much in the kitchen has her ankles looking like piano legs.
But she knows how much we here at BARNSTABLE admire her sacrifices. Which reminds me to thank that dear lady for sending over one of her prize-winning pineapple upside-down cakes nested in its own enamel skillet with extra maraschino cherries as garnish. The green ones. Lois knows who on staff is partial to green.
Meantime, no wedding date has been set while the blissful couple each tastefully remains single residents at separate addresses and abstains from the shenanigans that hardcore city folk usually fall temptation to.
• And we all are aware of what heat does. ‘Cause our readers know that arguably around this time every August, afternoons are aimlessly altered to suit the local CUSHMAN Road King motor scooter gang.
Well, there’s only two of those good ol’ boys left, who originally were members of the COBRAS, the motorcycle gang, which had to disband ‘cause the noise of all those Scramblers unnerved so much livestock.
Dairy cows, pasturing alongside some of the sprawling country roads, dried up. My wife Pearl - you folks remember Pearl with her blue-ribbon key lime pies at the State Fair - she can still recall when some of you had hens that wouldn’t lay.
And you know what a COBRA would do if it got in your hen house... since snakes slither, such silvery sinful salutations abound and on the rebound, creating deadly dangers (that) drive densely decent markets dim with all the eggs dined upon.
And making life more difficult in this sweltering summer’s heat, except when it’s cold. When cleavage cleverly concealed cannot cancel (the need for) creature comforts ( my typesetter Calvin concurs).
Which will remind our readers of the local trends for faux fur that fix malfunctioning of near-frozen flesh in fabulous styles when gale-force winds down from Alberta are upon us in six months (food for thought). Speaking of which:
• Richard over in east Raleigh 16.3 miles (as the crow flies) was heard radically rubbing Rachel's radiant red ringlets (which he realized felt reasonably ‘rousing). Richard seems to have more time on his hands lately than God had intended.
• Meanwhile, his hardware store, located at the northwest corner of Smith and Wesson will remain shut down, closed tight as Dick’s hatband for the remainder of this month. Shame. I hear tell that’s where you can always find the best selection of gardener’s chemicals and paraphernalia this side of Charlottesville. I know first hand you can’t lose when you’re cleaving the soil for your tuber plantings with a quality hoe.
• While the other side of our county fair grounds, it’s reported his good friend Timothy tries treating Tricia tenderly till two, when she leaves promptly to open her milliner shop & pizza parlor called Have One on Me,
Home of The Double Take, The Triple Threat, and The Gosh-Awful-Good; and those are just the hats which look good enough to eat! So give Trish a call. Her pizzas are prize-winners; they practically eat themselves!
• By the way, you folks recall the Philistine brothers, Harold and Frederick, don’t you? You know, the ones who tried their hand at shrimp fry farming in Minnesota and ended up swearing off using a snow plow to plant their fields while wearing five layers of foul weather gear for gosh sakes.
I mean! I love a good flannel shirt (‘specially red plaid) if I’m wearing it sitting by a roaring fire. But sitting atop a John Deere at 6 am with sleet crawling down my butt crack?
(By the way, a big shoutout to all our mail order friends and readers in Moline.)
I’d rather be on fire, you hear me? But what I was getting at: I told those boys just last week, yes, I told them they should’ve considered how two men joined at the coxic are not cut out for that kind of life.
And now look how those words, like chickens, have come back to roost, no pun intended.
But hours after that conversation, Harry had hardly felt his heart fibrillate which wasn’t welcome news for Freddie, his Siamese twin, being joined at the coxic as you can well imagine though I know I can’t.
He had to share a gurney with Harry once the paramedics came to rush them off to Our Blessed Mary of Automakers Medical Center’s ER in case Harry was in trouble.
But reassurances to our readers all around. The brothers were released yesterday and are enjoying some healthful home-cooked meals via their dad Otis who went fishing over the weekend
and now has everyone in his family (and their dog) with a freezer in their basement or garage with a supply of fish sticks (nothing else was biting) to choke a horse and bust a gut till Labor Day.
• That makes me think of my older sister Violeta. When we talk it’s usually on the phone ‘cause she does Meals-on-Wheels to local seniors even though she’s one herself come next spring.
I always ask if she still has that framed cross-stitch sampler that’s always hung on the east wall of the utility room since 1952 (years before she moved to that house and raised a family with her late husband Famous, a Fuller Brush Man).
We in fact don’t know who made it, the one that says, “Anywhere an Ant, Always an Ant.” And still she dryly replies, ‘Yup’. And I chuckle. It’s stuff like that.
• But now I’m reminded of my first girl friend when I was a junior and she a freshman in city college where we met. Like a nursery rhyme she was to me, but with innuendo:
Pretty precocious Polly preferred pink parakeets as pets back in the day when street punks weren’t purloining them from J.J. Newberry’s to sell on the black market.
Yeah... especially stuff like that.
• Going to press in 20 minutes, folks, catch you at suppertime.
— Bill, Editor-in-Chief
Copyright©️2018 Jade Pandora. All Rights Reserved.
NaPo/GloPoWriMo 2018
29/30
"If i get stung by a jellyfish i might let you pee on me"
Silverbell
silverbell tree bloomed overnight.
it was fallen snow in the calm,
covered frozen dirt in April.
white flowering petals
parted from mother to earth.
today
Twirling a mic piece in my left hand,
i wait for the next call to come barreling in.
this call center drives me crazy.
the chattering,
Clamouring;
debating with myself to switch jobs for better pay
or continuing to write.
this strange loophole
i've fallen into has allowed me to tell truths.
asdf
i put up a wall in the wake of truths reality
spending my time clocked in to not face the heartache
button of the belly kind
You are my belly button lint index finger
digging
just before my salad fork
hits nostril range
Pizza Apocalypse
My life is a pizza
and everyone i've met are the toppings
We're not long for this city anymore
fluorescent flicker flip lights
lock the doors that cater a thousand thresholds passing
the town of music waits for you
so wave goodbye on a gesture
Lasagna water
sharks teeth swam biting
clear blue waters drove us mad
fins cry in the deep
You left me in your browser history
I'm a break room vending machine
broken bill acceptor
you are a German coin rolling down
on a yo yo string
being pulled
right back up
poor me,pour you
Laundry in October
Is this what help feels like?
surrounded by swallowing crowds
yet
alone
Black ice
Pulling out of the snow covered apartment parking lot
a yellow jeep wrangler
turning three hundred sixty degree spins
down a steep hill next to the mall
macabre
death mask
departure
One by one they each departed
until only i was left
in the cold cold night
Loneliness
Ellen Terry actress
Beautiful
eyes closed to sleep
head turned to the right
grasping for her necklace
neverland
Sew my shadow back on won't you
this shadow box consumes me once again
A years worthlessness formed into a safe filled with balloons...open the door because there never was a combination, it's been broken and unlocked this whole time.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
i'm driving to Atlanta for the next two days so i won't have time to write.
this is 29/30
"If i get stung by a jellyfish i might let you pee on me"
Silverbell
silverbell tree bloomed overnight.
it was fallen snow in the calm,
covered frozen dirt in April.
white flowering petals
parted from mother to earth.
today
Twirling a mic piece in my left hand,
i wait for the next call to come barreling in.
this call center drives me crazy.
the chattering,
Clamouring;
debating with myself to switch jobs for better pay
or continuing to write.
this strange loophole
i've fallen into has allowed me to tell truths.
asdf
i put up a wall in the wake of truths reality
spending my time clocked in to not face the heartache
button of the belly kind
You are my belly button lint index finger
digging
just before my salad fork
hits nostril range
Pizza Apocalypse
My life is a pizza
and everyone i've met are the toppings
We're not long for this city anymore
fluorescent flicker flip lights
lock the doors that cater a thousand thresholds passing
the town of music waits for you
so wave goodbye on a gesture
Lasagna water
sharks teeth swam biting
clear blue waters drove us mad
fins cry in the deep
You left me in your browser history
I'm a break room vending machine
broken bill acceptor
you are a German coin rolling down
on a yo yo string
being pulled
right back up
poor me,pour you
Laundry in October
Is this what help feels like?
surrounded by swallowing crowds
yet
alone
Black ice
Pulling out of the snow covered apartment parking lot
a yellow jeep wrangler
turning three hundred sixty degree spins
down a steep hill next to the mall
macabre
death mask
departure
One by one they each departed
until only i was left
in the cold cold night
Loneliness
Ellen Terry actress
Beautiful
eyes closed to sleep
head turned to the right
grasping for her necklace
neverland
Sew my shadow back on won't you
this shadow box consumes me once again
A years worthlessness formed into a safe filled with balloons...open the door because there never was a combination, it's been broken and unlocked this whole time.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
i'm driving to Atlanta for the next two days so i won't have time to write.
this is 29/30
!Warning Foul Language Incoming!
29.
Fuck Off: Fucking Fiction
Fuck Off with your poems so called 'erotic'
churned out with flaccid limp lines
all the lust is making me psychotic
bored to tears with the whore talk
There are far too many arseholes
dumping out their randy bullshit
enough for multiple totem poles
that I simply cannot give a crap about
All get frigging out of here you flying frick
shut the fuck up about you sex life
I am not fascinated by tedium prick
rub up against someone else for attention
If its so very fucking fantastic
keep it to your damn self
so stop raping my eyeballs spastic
jerk in someone else's backyard
As I have clearly had more than enough
and so have you by the sounds of it
detailing all from cum and clit to muff
screw that overplayed boring crap
Put pen to paper for a new topic
as it balls to constant testicle talk
monotonous makes me misanthropic
as I could not give a rat's arse
Although you are quite clearly banging that
rutting like rabbits to heart's content
bash those lines in with a baseball bat
just to get some peace and quiet
As there are already nymphomaniacs
aplenty in my head harem
sophisticated in seductive syntax
Take your un-innuendo ass elsewhere
to befoul and darken another door
with woeful written words lacking all flair
as I once again say: Fuck Off.
(Unique words: 158.)
29.
Fuck Off: Fucking Fiction
Fuck Off with your poems so called 'erotic'
churned out with flaccid limp lines
all the lust is making me psychotic
bored to tears with the whore talk
There are far too many arseholes
dumping out their randy bullshit
enough for multiple totem poles
that I simply cannot give a crap about
All get frigging out of here you flying frick
shut the fuck up about you sex life
I am not fascinated by tedium prick
rub up against someone else for attention
If its so very fucking fantastic
keep it to your damn self
so stop raping my eyeballs spastic
jerk in someone else's backyard
As I have clearly had more than enough
and so have you by the sounds of it
detailing all from cum and clit to muff
screw that overplayed boring crap
Put pen to paper for a new topic
as it balls to constant testicle talk
monotonous makes me misanthropic
as I could not give a rat's arse
Although you are quite clearly banging that
rutting like rabbits to heart's content
bash those lines in with a baseball bat
just to get some peace and quiet
As there are already nymphomaniacs
aplenty in my head harem
sophisticated in seductive syntax
Take your un-innuendo ass elsewhere
to befoul and darken another door
with woeful written words lacking all flair
as I once again say: Fuck Off.
(Unique words: 158.)
27/30
Writing Therapy
Baring my emotions
in a visceral write
unburdening deep fears
affording them flight
revealing buried feelings
that have rested for ages
uprooting my angst
while scribing upon pages
sensing cathartic release
with words composed
relief easily afforded
when grief is exposed
offering new vision
a different perspective
attitude now altered
becoming receptive
revealing personal experience
alleviates the torment
revelatory process
the point poignant
Writing Therapy
Baring my emotions
in a visceral write
unburdening deep fears
affording them flight
revealing buried feelings
that have rested for ages
uprooting my angst
while scribing upon pages
sensing cathartic release
with words composed
relief easily afforded
when grief is exposed
offering new vision
a different perspective
attitude now altered
becoming receptive
revealing personal experience
alleviates the torment
revelatory process
the point poignant
28/30
Maternal Teachings
From a young age
learning respect
offering to all
what you expect
love, unconditional
bestowed upon me
revealed importance
of true loyalty
imparted principles
of wisdom and growth
sharing your faith
kindness an oath
in your struggles
my compassion grew
teaching perseverance
through the courage you drew
holding standards
for responsibility
realising benefits
gaining autonomy
values instilled
quite early on
always upheld
although you are gone
Double posting as I have been away and am behind.
Maternal Teachings
From a young age
learning respect
offering to all
what you expect
love, unconditional
bestowed upon me
revealed importance
of true loyalty
imparted principles
of wisdom and growth
sharing your faith
kindness an oath
in your struggles
my compassion grew
teaching perseverance
through the courage you drew
holding standards
for responsibility
realising benefits
gaining autonomy
values instilled
quite early on
always upheld
although you are gone
Double posting as I have been away and am behind.
Anatomy of Loss XIV
.ii
Here we have it – the Known Unknown
a vacuum of tangible loss coupling
with living, regenerative energy
Transformation shapeshifts circumstance
from visible to a parallel universe
of uncalculated cause and effect
I currently choose this, now, Us
but, how will we eventually evolve
by turning right verses left
Or, selecting a Friday evening movie
instead of the usual Saturday matinee
we’ve grown accustomed to seeing
I read once that if we lived even 10,000
lifetimes we wouldn’t have moved
but a few granules from a mountain of choice
If you think hard about it, it’s truth
patterns of multi-dimensional being
splaying as deltas into more of the same
Infinite possibility born of a single decision
and one more, and another, and so forth
not in centuries, but mere seconds
We return again and again to experience
because next time we’ll turn left;
and after that, perhaps stay straight
. . .
29/30
For my J, with Love 💜
.ii
Here we have it – the Known Unknown
a vacuum of tangible loss coupling
with living, regenerative energy
Transformation shapeshifts circumstance
from visible to a parallel universe
of uncalculated cause and effect
I currently choose this, now, Us
but, how will we eventually evolve
by turning right verses left
Or, selecting a Friday evening movie
instead of the usual Saturday matinee
we’ve grown accustomed to seeing
I read once that if we lived even 10,000
lifetimes we wouldn’t have moved
but a few granules from a mountain of choice
If you think hard about it, it’s truth
patterns of multi-dimensional being
splaying as deltas into more of the same
Infinite possibility born of a single decision
and one more, and another, and so forth
not in centuries, but mere seconds
We return again and again to experience
because next time we’ll turn left;
and after that, perhaps stay straight
. . .
29/30
For my J, with Love 💜
29/30
Life Of The Midnight Garden Party
Beyond sundown's ritualistic
lighting of the lamp posts
her vocal chords
spring forth in blooms
through belated hours
spirit mingling with ghosts
guesting in my empty rooms
assorted quiet moments
the Universe affords
anticipated as Ours
Brilliant and strong
petaling along in her song
leaving me elated
I'm pleasingly serenaded
In her blessed company
she brings out the best in me
and I am truly without limitation;
never to be vased with imitation
flowers
for Ahavati with Love
💜
Life Of The Midnight Garden Party
Beyond sundown's ritualistic
lighting of the lamp posts
her vocal chords
spring forth in blooms
through belated hours
spirit mingling with ghosts
guesting in my empty rooms
assorted quiet moments
the Universe affords
anticipated as Ours
Brilliant and strong
petaling along in her song
leaving me elated
I'm pleasingly serenaded
In her blessed company
she brings out the best in me
and I am truly without limitation;
never to be vased with imitation
flowers
for Ahavati with Love
💜
Touching The Past
(Napo #29, April 29, 2018)
A friend came a-calling, and
I paid her a visit.
We sorted through her possessions
as she prepared to relocate, and
she made a pile for me
to sell.
A fellow Christian, she
insisted that I take a commission
for her goods, upon sale, and
I will respect her wishes, fairly.
Mary told me stories of each piece
as we sorted
and piled my truck, full, for
this is my dream
to pick and sell, full time.
But, when much is entrusted,
much is expected in return, and
God saw fit to test me
in the midst.
We came upon the Nazi belts
and trench daggers
that Mary’s father kept as spoils
of victory in WWII, and
the revulsion welled, as if
I were one of the Jews
stabbed
by the knives.
The eagle-and-swastika
belt buckles, now tarnished,
would have glinted in my eyes,
as I slumped to the ground
in a mass grave.
I did not want to touch
these items from the past, for
fear of vomiting
and crying for all the deaths, but
I put them in a bag, then
listed them for sale.
I would not go against Mary’s wishes, but
did I go against God’s, and
should have quietly burned and buried
the lot?
The less evil things in the world,
the better.
(Napo #29, April 29, 2018)
A friend came a-calling, and
I paid her a visit.
We sorted through her possessions
as she prepared to relocate, and
she made a pile for me
to sell.
A fellow Christian, she
insisted that I take a commission
for her goods, upon sale, and
I will respect her wishes, fairly.
Mary told me stories of each piece
as we sorted
and piled my truck, full, for
this is my dream
to pick and sell, full time.
But, when much is entrusted,
much is expected in return, and
God saw fit to test me
in the midst.
We came upon the Nazi belts
and trench daggers
that Mary’s father kept as spoils
of victory in WWII, and
the revulsion welled, as if
I were one of the Jews
stabbed
by the knives.
The eagle-and-swastika
belt buckles, now tarnished,
would have glinted in my eyes,
as I slumped to the ground
in a mass grave.
I did not want to touch
these items from the past, for
fear of vomiting
and crying for all the deaths, but
I put them in a bag, then
listed them for sale.
I would not go against Mary’s wishes, but
did I go against God’s, and
should have quietly burned and buried
the lot?
The less evil things in the world,
the better.
29/30
Desire’s Thirst
Life evolved is pain embraced
as the portal to paths beyond
even as we circle back
returned to the echo’s pit
listening to the vibrato
bouncing between there and now
expression of what should not be
resounding true to base desires
no longer slave to pleasure’s taint
even as the same is sought
answering siren’s song from the rocks
‘turn away’ beg the gods
shackles dropped become the quest
not left long on the ground
as the demons ask their due
to reattach the hated chains
keep the chant in front of you
gaze upon the healthy choice
while the whispers are so sweet
‘return to me to ease your mind’
that hole persisting beneath the cloth
asking only to be fulfilled
with no price submitted at the feast
then claiming all for desire’s thirst.
Desire’s Thirst
Life evolved is pain embraced
as the portal to paths beyond
even as we circle back
returned to the echo’s pit
listening to the vibrato
bouncing between there and now
expression of what should not be
resounding true to base desires
no longer slave to pleasure’s taint
even as the same is sought
answering siren’s song from the rocks
‘turn away’ beg the gods
shackles dropped become the quest
not left long on the ground
as the demons ask their due
to reattach the hated chains
keep the chant in front of you
gaze upon the healthy choice
while the whispers are so sweet
‘return to me to ease your mind’
that hole persisting beneath the cloth
asking only to be fulfilled
with no price submitted at the feast
then claiming all for desire’s thirst.
By ImperfectedStone via proxy due to no internet connection:
30.30
UW:145
The Long Way Home
On the way back to a hotel beside Gatwick North,
ready for our 3am flight
we leapt onto a Southhampton train via the terminal.
It was rammed,
like English, over polite, rude as hell whips
averting their eyes so not having to let through the lady with a baby strapped to her chest.
We managed to get further down the carriage,
passed whole families sat on floors next to toilets,
to priority seating,
with eight priority seats,
filled with one hung over, sun burnt teenager, one university student on a laptop,
two chatting middle aged women,
two twenty to thirty year old men chatting D and D,
and one eighteen year old and his cello in the adjoining seat
- no one offered me a chair,
not until the baby cried,
of which only the hungover sunburnt teen did, the one who
frankly deserved it most. He sat with his head in his hands, in tears, in the gangway
with people standing over him, barely making eye contact for the rest of the journey.
I hate London, I hate every one of those rude humans who made mine, that family with two small children and that poor burnt, hungover teen sit of the floor. I hope a seagull fouls on their sandwich,
and they miss their connections.
30.30
UW:145
The Long Way Home
On the way back to a hotel beside Gatwick North,
ready for our 3am flight
we leapt onto a Southhampton train via the terminal.
It was rammed,
like English, over polite, rude as hell whips
averting their eyes so not having to let through the lady with a baby strapped to her chest.
We managed to get further down the carriage,
passed whole families sat on floors next to toilets,
to priority seating,
with eight priority seats,
filled with one hung over, sun burnt teenager, one university student on a laptop,
two chatting middle aged women,
two twenty to thirty year old men chatting D and D,
and one eighteen year old and his cello in the adjoining seat
- no one offered me a chair,
not until the baby cried,
of which only the hungover sunburnt teen did, the one who
frankly deserved it most. He sat with his head in his hands, in tears, in the gangway
with people standing over him, barely making eye contact for the rest of the journey.
I hate London, I hate every one of those rude humans who made mine, that family with two small children and that poor burnt, hungover teen sit of the floor. I hope a seagull fouls on their sandwich,
and they miss their connections.
Doubling up as I wasn’t feeling well yesterday
28/30
Kat
Kat is krazy
She’s one hell of a lady
My adopted mother
The real slim shady
She’ll talk to you
Like your two
childish at heart
Not one bit subdued
She’s a wild woman
With love to share
Spreading it behind the bar
Dumping it everywhere
She likes to sing
Unless it’s rap
Just play Hotline Bling
You’ll get a laugh
Yes, Kat is Krazy
I love her too
My momma forever
Through and through
29/30
Under crystal lights
Together, hand in hand
Kissing, dancing, all the works
Swaying slowly to the DJ
Dreading eleven
Anticipating midnight
When we could finally love
Under the moon
Far away from crystal lights
Gone with the people and sights
Just you and I
Dancing to a fast heartbeat
Our own rhythm
Stars align, bodies intertwined
We become one
In the light of the stars
Away from the crystal lights
28/30
Kat
Kat is krazy
She’s one hell of a lady
My adopted mother
The real slim shady
She’ll talk to you
Like your two
childish at heart
Not one bit subdued
She’s a wild woman
With love to share
Spreading it behind the bar
Dumping it everywhere
She likes to sing
Unless it’s rap
Just play Hotline Bling
You’ll get a laugh
Yes, Kat is Krazy
I love her too
My momma forever
Through and through
29/30
Under crystal lights
Together, hand in hand
Kissing, dancing, all the works
Swaying slowly to the DJ
Dreading eleven
Anticipating midnight
When we could finally love
Under the moon
Far away from crystal lights
Gone with the people and sights
Just you and I
Dancing to a fast heartbeat
Our own rhythm
Stars align, bodies intertwined
We become one
In the light of the stars
Away from the crystal lights
