Hands of the Damned

well all is a rainy day chain smoking coffee cup. heaven on hands of the damned but my head is up. don't be a bother my brother is better. hope he is hip to this hanging-dry letter. found out this mourning that most of of my time is spent sitting on rusty old stories of crime. jitters and junctions at sunny town square where the politics never rinse out of my hair. bleed out the hell in me something keeps telling' me glorified vanity feeds the insanity, read by some passerbye wretched and worrisome, slow down you clown there's no need to be hurry-some. give way and settle your family is roses and shutter in time with the door as it closes cause even the storm in my eye is the same as the golden pretender who's first in the game and if writ on the side of this turvying ride is the map that should carry us on, then never give in to the sadness within or the moment we hope for is gone.