hold on, about to bust one, do not smudge the word of the saint

Garaa – check ur email, if you may.

Cruxification. Jesus is dead. Sickness.
A cowboy, the song of an outlaw. The Dragon House.
Resuscitate, Eddie Murphy, hit him up to save the Buddha child.
Hit me back up. Tom Cruise will be down to hit me back up.
Tom Hanks, take me to an island. A place, for the freedom of Wilson.
Where to go, to escape Armageddon, T Cruise knows what’s up.
Making his dough. The super star.

Ninja Thai Princess, on to the next sound. Surfing. We will run. We will fight.
The power of a thousand men. Swimming across an ocean, a wooden water ship.
The music is so random, the music is so awesome. And it keeps getting better.
The best bebop place in the world, welcome. But the echo is nothingness, me.

I think maybe that’s why they call me the dog man. My journey to longevity.
Yet, the song to the lyrics is a song of love. I’m not even a part of this song. Transmission over. The sound of broken love, where I have fucked up*. Yet, I’m not even part of the song. Transmission over. The highest love, of the oneness kind. Only the Holy Spirit can save me.

I’ll be the cyborg, the monster kind. Straight celibacy to the mission.
I wonder if my cowboy song will ever begin. Who will save me.
Hercule or Armitage. Maybe, how do I reset myself. Back to number zero.
Into the infinite crisis, I have lost. Love, will never be, of that name.
Love, the rest of the world. I only can. No more music, until the ray of light.