Bullpigs And Ike Greeting

When I'm looking down at you sleeping, with Rosemary riding shotgun, I say it. Now can I say something about fear tax gas gouging? Is there an e in that? No, but there is in xxon, bp, shll. Gazprom I say. I mean G said back the, uh huh, okay then. Worry 'bout your red dirt selves. Speaking of, Lubbock runs red, then it's gone, soaked in. Wall-e doesn't sound so far off but then neither did The Road, wonder what magic we'll believe in then. What beans we'll buy. Soaked in then wasn't intentional but blank it, no double it. They all say they want, truth, please, make my palms sweat and guts churn with the insanity of our bizarre stations, that every medium is just a weak facsimile of, give me that. But anyone who's ever been to holes and back up again knows better, even if they spend the rest of their days grating themselves back into dust. They just want to feel, something. And the others, mistrust the feelers. Truth. Huh.