Brooklyn

classic sleepless villians.

programmed by plastic outlaws stiff to the touch.

nuerotic explosions make us feel undead.

strange how that works.

mistrust has been mistaken.

we can no longer hear the roar the glamorous substance makes.

the once warnings fraud tried to give us.

now secret sour comfessions each critic makes.

this type of combat is silent and beautiful.

it's charming and sinister with every baritone move.

they have all tried to resist being unlaced.

but resistance is lessoned every second it waits.

it's a bag filled with bandits sweet to the taste.

it's nuclear thunder can stow away misery and gun smoke.

it's punishing absence has been known to claw out your eyes.

and axe away your vanity.