Im Gonna Shoot

And I miss you when you're gone

He leaves me with a box of pearls kissing pearls with no mouths

Conceived in a birdcage she grows

The apple of her father's eye

Swimming in a fountain of milk

Built from bricks at the heart of thickness

I can feel her fingers spread to the beat of a kick drum

She will beautiful and we already know her name

I've already laid eyes on the eyes on the apparition of my daughter

She's got that touch of you that makes her glow

Softest harmony, sung aloud

And she will be beautiful

Our choir girl

Venora

(taste me, embrace me, our choir girl).

Mother natures got craftsmanship

While producing ghostly fruits

She crept behind the woodwork gracefully speechless