I Rack James Blunt and the Title given as the Captain of Poets in the ever last of his Cowardess Crap,
a Compact Disc. to out the His for he is no dreamer of reality rather a bitter lard of bicker knots loomed,
for just another drink or a party blink to Isle the body of last think revealing that marriage is shite to Dau.
No glory in the Quest to be a better best as the Singer testifies but in real just runs the Guise to I.D. his lack,
gaining financials to bank is the obvious reason for the Sociological study of Human Brain to brink,
off to the stage of pocket change surfing crowds as a Suited up mobster of the Mind in Laned.
Some typing trouble in the 2005 Site of hearing not his high pitched voiced batter but the music of the grand,
in piano the bass of the land as an entry to the back of Elemental stirring feelings into questions actually asked
not some Bravado of stolen from an other I didn't even know about Twin Flames and disaster or Plato.
Mr. dumb fuck can't even live up to his Witness of a testimony in a simple Meeting of the eyes for fear?,
toilets near in my home so he can lock the door and know the truth before he walks an alter to ruin another,
in a life of fucking the brains of mucking just trying liken the paparazzi to stirring up shit for forker knifed.
I have been before of this I Am Certain but I Will be True to Self and advise all Children to warn away,
for this dumb ASS used Broken Planet is the Blow Nose of the Solar Systems Barf,
a puke production of the already done reins to break the Cycle of REPEATS.
I don't know if I love this Man to Death or Love this Man to swallow,
it seems either way my Brain is Whipping these questions of Stop to MEET or MEAT the stop!!
