he will snip fresh mint into your sleep in the bottle that holds the lavender

spray the sandman comes to mist on tired trips and acid and the liquid is

rebirth because that's what is said to leave behind the avenue circles of

hits that fall just short of last night and circles stop only to take one more sandy hit of mint and circles who ponder its lavender but

he stops the trip and it is a cotton mist envelopes fall from the sky into porcelain dolls cradled under your arm lacking circles she

sings emperor dont stop this trip on mint don't stop cries the quicksand she sings out the hue of

sand caught in her porcelain baby's lungs choking on

circles and hexing her throat on the corner of his square basking in mint which she circles grief

slip is my night supple syrup curves the tips of the baby doll mint leaves

contorting the point of circles slip backwards edging to forth and running but

she runs to goodness but it stops and she's gone and composed and all the little men

inside screaming of

circles circles circles

this this is good or dizzying rip

me apart too too loud emperor control me contort me conquer my conquibescent

curves emperor sandman

deals and yells miles not ending but the climax is near and the quicksand is quaking she circles her teeth rubbing mist in the curves of her features and of her circles