The shag starts to fall. A curtain on call. For a certain merchant I fall, he pull out the ball. Dollars I maul. Get back to my hall, pipes hot, time becomes sensual, mind races existential, smoke until the sun and the moon don't shine at all,. To hell I crawl, on my back with limbs twisted round back. Chatting that yak. Blithered by tweak . Twirlers crack back. Pile up that stack, crush it all back, I must have my hands upon that or myself I will smack. Patience a lack, when friends join smoke pack. Trojan horse of force to get my reclaim sack . I jigg and I jack, my own shit back. As I try not let them all know I'm a hack . Mentally self attack, looking straight back, into the eyes of all those I know as their eyes I know all turn black . Critical Mac, tendons all snap, fading to black. Loss of my conscious launches the haunted self back into the vacc. A void, so toyed,.the ployed and destroyed my anointedly pointed Piko pipple pipe, the return of that GLACK . Taking no flack . Talkings all whack. Bitten is the hand that feeds so the hand that feeds has bitten the biters and claiming is now the track!