The Kraken is free and I’m burning his candle. I drank his soul and now I’m melting his body, sealing him Forever. We did it to the skeletons and now they stand as statues all black and white and locked away on our funky juju table cloth.
Next to my black book that’s empty now and the tower that speaks and the stained leather tome that’s almost full but will never be finished.
If only I could filter my shells and wrap them up in sticky paper,
But I need them for burning crop with a Marc on my head
While I toss stones into the water.
Oh, the phonic in my head,
The childish NU: phonic that rattles in my skull.