at the end, don’t forget…. the trumpet. The volks wagon trip

I’m the dying guru guy. A skeleton would have been more exquisite.
A leaf blunt in my mouth. These rotting depths, Seraphim pray for me.
I have never done wrong. In the art of dying. Can you be a next door.
In my labyrinth. Brone, drive me … a little to the east. Set up camp in the land.
I can find a way. This can be, our ground zero. I’m the rotting celibacy dude.
Be a man. And come see me. I’m the dying guru dude.
Be the dude, and come see me.
Haha.

First, we need to crack my egg back to life. There’s a thin shell between me from living and dying that I must face and battle, now, in the form of a holy pilgrimage. I am dying.

We gonna go … play some native b-ball. The path to the neon volks wagon, perhaps. Is the sound of the music. Get on the trip-hop bus, the story of the world, our luggage. To become a free butterfly. The knights of doom, because you saved me.
Will you ever become… I wonder. At the end, is the lost trumpet.