Don't let them pull the (wool) over ur (eyes) you all shine, in diamonds that bust though a 'we garden' i feel a vacuum of mind could be an illusion, in the full frontal show that is the future of 'we the people'. where killers get nowhere, they lay the tracks through the dustbin that is New York city. The emptiness of our kind, just like a wool holiday, where some of us are gifted..our equality just to avoid conflict. some may ram to infect us like we weren't already infected. but a teen desire that is beautiful.. like me but the question of we rammed in our throat. this equality avoids calamity, till the joker blames his bad karma on his eternal victim like some goat where we will refuse to cum, the grimy troll dont tend to try as hard as we, a black treadmill, waste the money on the nyc . i tell no lies because i cant lie to you, you lie to me now. tell me we are fine. this is an illusion, that i am somehow part of. the king is in dirt, like a hybrid of sinful high an low. like 1 + 3, i guess.