A Sick Cult
I'm sipping cold and slow while careful to keep my legs closed.
The sun's not solid gold, but no one knows.
The doors are deadlocked but the whores aren't wedlocked.
A wish list of marital bliss in an answerless Los Angeles.
Back home they think I'm queer, but no one's yet to notice here.
The doors are deadlocked but the whores aren't wedlocked.
Free love in the city
A sick cult in synchronicity.
Oh Shut up, its the best habit I've held in years.