The radical nature of experience
Like a we-disorder
I might spread the green like butter
Branches have left you chafed and red
Like a we-disorder
I held it in my hands
Branches have left you chafed and red
Everything wears the scent of silicon
I held it in my hands
All the pain gushes from its ports
Everything wears the scent of silicon
All wounds will be erased.
All the pain gushes from its ports
I might spread the green like butter
All wounds will be erased.
The radical nature of experience