Stand tall, but not too proud.
Speak up, but not too loud.
Don't be afraid to be yourself,
but only when allowed.
Try not to inconvenience
and stay out of the way,
but when it's deemed appropriate,
say what you have to say.

Something's inside,
We can feel it.
For every ring placed,
It appears as two.
It's not me, it's not her,
It has to be you
The one ******* around in
My private information -
I mean what's it to you?
You're never going to be visible,
You're not wanted.
The public eye and it's alley shadows
Curse you,
You satanic being
I condemn the both of you.

Something's inside,
We can feel it.
Her body is clay
And we need a craft
So pucker your lips,
Pull the mic close
I'll sing the words
Don't try and stop it.

I'm in control.

There was a mob of people here
All lined up a few bricks prior to the street light frozen on green
We were all imminent to the sound of a rusty metal bar snapping free of its locks
Our eyes remained open, no one blinked.
There were hard ***** of crusted orange paint illuminating the balding of the center caved as an aging man's youth did,
A slight shine for remembrance,
Its lullaby announcing delivery -
Its old tethered tires barely holding on
Its driver as still as a stoop with patience like a hawk,
Patient and expectant of the whole lot of worth never used to
Fund towards the Lime Green Stinge animalisticly chomping down on a hamburger.
It's an addiction;
An addict who creeps by the window huffing the aroma of freshly cut grass
As do I near a few pounds of regular gasoline but this one,
This is different.
It's bittersweet, spicy, nose wiggling, pocket itching, finger twitching, feet moving, toes curling, heart racing, such an extravagant smell -
There couldn't possibly be any better arousal than this.