Sounds from Friday afternoon

i know, i know, i know it, i want to sleep all day, i sold my soul to satan, but satan's just a name

The Narrator Suite

Ballet Prelude No. 2

Pop Song

Your Song

Ambiguous Penetration

Soft lit savory nights with the serene demeanor of a saint where we can laugh and play as we did when we were born as one and forever in love without the notion of today or tomorrow or sitting alone in sorrow, I can't doubt this olive essence in the compound of many frame works, arching back and forth, lush in warmth, so ever motivated by a creative fragrence, lacking filtration of the mind, exploding in valor to tempt those in denial, throbbing a passion filled heart that's gained a rhythm over the clock of time, taking away the breath of jasmine and wine, piles of moist canvas so natural to our flesh encountering a stream of ribosomic projectiles vibrating still of motionlessness, what has left will be feared but only if we think linearly, passed unkempt stylized ways that I will shut out, and will open up to something that will make sense in any condition, even if it permits my biological source to be slightly undermined. Here I will be content in us together.

Mourning Pastel