In every other word

i talk to myself until im over

i make tea for mostly sit with the dead

i leave honey on the doors of the father and i take him back to his mind and everythingleft of me there and so much for being the opposite, im overraated since becoming you.

i wake up evil on every other ride, and face it, im the devil and im really just war.

i may be over before the summer, i may be the worst thing to happen to you yet.

i serve cold tea and weather the blues for the alter and when i wake i die to your body and finally breathe and sever my neck from my channel and my whore from my obeah and i die a lonely death like you planned it.

i dont know maybe im just over.