Holy Lucy wholely ready for the golden gun to start the fun of steel ball run 'cause it's almost Time for the one to become undone so the purple plum punch at lunch can launch the magic conch shell & sell sea shores to hellish cores coloring crime in lines with false signs so green tastes like sour lime instead of the Sweet rhyme & unaware of the sugar skull one carries inside the corpse of Christ that can make spring fall for any & all who naw on youth like Satan's sleuth killing kids full of Truth yet nothing to do 'cept sit in the booth while parents order wine & nothing to dine pretending the quiet kids are fine 'cause they ignore every single sign of broken minds running out of Time like all of mine who tried telling then yelling & finally selling their souls to hell - might as well when in hell 'cause just like Roman roads - all good intentions without intervention lead 2 cold hell of burned out desire fires that no longer inspire the grand sire of the spire who just wants to retire his tired tires with ∞ miles & tears from tearing tiers - but that's just not quite his style to quit & aquit apathy's sin good men commit when they sit by in the sky as the kids slit my wrists 'cause they can't twist fatality to fit inside such an absurd reality spinning life full of strife when the causality is the wife holding a knife to the throat of hope & then whispering "nope" when all they're doing is their best & trying harder than God to cope with eternity's infinite slope using anything other than a hanging rope like a wedding ring that the Devil gives when one can't prevent him from tricking the kids who can't yet invent infinite consent to trade their life with lies so immortals & death can elope
Holy Lucy who’s holey ready For golden~gun to start the Fun of steel~ball~run & now Finally it’s our Time 4~1~2 Become üNdØИ∃ so the purple Plum punch sent 2 lunch can Launch my magic conch shell & sell sea shores 2 hellish Cores coloring crime inside Lines full of false signs 2 Make Green~Times taste like Sour limes instead of §weet Rhymes, unaware of my sugar Skulls being carried inside Christ’s corpse Whö is able To make spring fall for A11 Whö naw on Youths raw & saw Satan’s sleuths killing Law And KIDS Whö hold the Truth Yet nothing to do ‘cept sit Inside booths while parents Order wine & nothing 2 dine & then pretend quiet KIDS~R Perfectly fine, ‘cause they Were never allowed to whine Which made it oh~so easy to Ignore such rapid decline & Every single sign of broken Tired minds Whö are running Out of Time & like mine Whö A11 tried telling, and then Yelling, so finally selling Their souls 2 hell for only A dime ~ might as well when In we fell ~ 4 like Roman’s Roads ~ A11 good intentions Without intervention lead 2 Cold hell of the Burn~out’s Desire whose fire no longer Inspires my grand Sires Whö Respire inside Spiral~Spire And have grown too tired to Perspire & now just wish to Retire their tired tires at ∞ miles and so wearing thin Clear tears for tearing out Hair whenever tiering their Peers near piers, yet §till Just not quite their styles To quit, nor aquit Apathy’s Sin which A11 them good men Commit whenever they sit by A while in the sky, and A11 While wily KIDS sit, & slit Our wrists, ‘cause we can’t Twist fatality 2 fit inside Such an absurd reality that Is spinning my Life full of Strife, especially when the Causality is the Wife Whö’s Holding a knife 2 my Hope’s Throat, and then whispering “nope” when A11 we’re doing Is our best & trying harder Than God to cope with fiery Eternity’s infinite slope & Using anything other than a Hanging rope like a wedding Ring, from the Crimson~King Imprisoning Youth in orange Jumpsuits by singing to A11 Those KIDS who cannot quite Yet create the Chirality so Consent to trade away Lives 4 lies and sum Time öutside The Fall Out Boy as soapbox “Immortals” and Death elope
♡Sugar☆World☮ 