Sheltered by the heart that was given to you
Colored by the weary shades of blue
Pretend that its all fun and games
When they collide like fierce trains
The towering inferno of a pocket sized creation
Filled with what was left of this underestimated nation
So the birds sing and the low riders hop
And Mr. Bently’s bently ends up in a chop shop
But stolen really was not the first intention
And intrigued by another episode of intervention
We lay on our couches engulfed with intensity of our lives
Screaming at the TV to the sluts of Desperate House Wives
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