(+3 rating, 3 votes)Mind = blown.
VERSE 1:
- Stain glass tile iris
- Clouded up thoughts cut short seem timeless
- Little miss nineties, little white tablets
- Little eyes dilate, caught in the moment
- Amphetamine shaft deep blackness stints
- Pinpoint inside the torn apart big bang
- Expanding think tank anguish
- Slice in the fabric, mice in the makeup
- Ditto of a dotted line blank telegraph
- Ship in a jar, pen a path backwards
- Ripple in an ocean
- Still born syllabus jitter bug glitter ball pupils struggling to focus
- Following the circles and lines and the night as it wakes up
- Breaking up background, back down to syllables
- Little miss stand-off flowering in autumn
- Born before caution, last calls for boarding, heart racing forward
- Part way to glory
- Eight winds are calling her downfall, proud walls crumble when she takes much boundary evasion
- Stage fright princess
- In-depth tapestry in low-fi pixels seamless peroxide picture
- Exposing a semi-fiction in every instant moment
- Clinging to potion whispers
- Or is it wisdom?
- Cloaked in a smokescreen, coasting on feelings empty
- In wonderland playing out a colourful enigma
- Her planet goes deep down the rabbit hole precipice
- Leaps from the static as she reached for the panic button
- Sleep with the paranoid, wake with the blissful
- Wait with the worrying in star-struck screen face dream state DOS mode limbo
- Pressing the escape key for reason
- Little miss reach for the substance, it’s never that simple
CHORUS:
- Analyse this from the other side of the spectrum and range, outside the kaleidoscope
- Of the sane with the bland counting the spiders in whirlpool spirals
- Cold rush of the virus in vein, other line dialling a string of nines to herself
- Hoping they’d analyse this from the looking glass, not imposing
- Little Miss Ninety sweating on a bed of roses
VERSE 2:
- Deep black cinema, blank white retinas flash like serenade
- Quick time high pace life span
- Glissando emotions, case open, file name 'fair ground', sounds seem deafening
- Forgotten in a white wash morning emulsion,
- Click tracks accent electrified comas projections of holograms
- Walking with corpses and hearing the calls of them beckoning
- Little miss write her own sentence
- Little white polka dots ready for her rescue
- Heads buried in the sand steadily erasing, any trace many fates written in a silver glaze
- Tipped for the finish line ribbon of her artificial matrix
- Crippled by the little smiley faces, lucid
- Join dots released from the blueprint
- Dropping anchors, like splash in the tide of the past
- Flash back to the future
- Thoughts dissolved down to words then burst into 3D
- Learn from the wise eyes gripped by the depths
- All immersed in a crowd left drowning in shallow waters that don't move her
- Learn to escape, colours fade in the light, cascade into faraway pigments
- Emerge in a grey dawn from the womb, fresh blood from the wound, whiplash
- Parachute bites as the sunshine blisters
- Falling like crash from her discworld, waiting for her Tinkerbelle to save her
- Close to the brink, little white speckles glint in the sun’s glow, fit for the unknown
- Little bag of promises, any kind of flavour
- Taught by the white pebbles, drink the remainder
- Little miss sleepwalker, seeking clarity
- Remembering that dreams always simulate reality
CHORUS:
- Analyse this from the other side of the spectrum and range, outside the kaleidoscope
- Of the sane with the bland counting the spiders in whirlpool spirals
- Cold rush of the virus in vein, other line dialling a string of nines to herself
- Hoping they’d analyse this from the looking glass, not imposing
- Little Miss Ninety sweating on a bed of roses
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