Cold Hard French Fries

Funk, rhyme, the reason,
plan as thoughts reach,
words without meaning,
as the reflections of girls
setting in their seats

the random voice in the mirror
pillows in the minds,
sauage and spagetti
the wicked rhyme of reason
teddy bears in their chairs
and the sweet sound of mold
and cigarettes melting away in the air

The air has run dry,
Books on the shelf, a hard cold french fry
the view of a pocket love keychain
the blend of anything
pass the white coat that seats