Quick, with hands

Quick, you’ll need your hands
Yes they are floating, dream by dream
Massive splash in the sphere of melancholy
Over drawn funds that can’t fill us forever
Poor souls are walking with realizations so full
But to carry it around like gossip
And the cure is harrowing.

Neither the man or the thinker try to stop the action from actually happening
Music to the funny ears of a man
Did this turn?
Can’t say.
May be locked.
Try key.
There, open.

New voice for friendly types.
Probably talk about Jesus with something to see.
Might not be bad.

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