[The Identity Crisis]

The identity crisis,

A loose knit muse,

A fog of confusion

At most, let with offline regaining of conciousness.

No more monsters?

All blondes are.

Let them have you

No grapple promotions

(I know I can't afford you)

New friends for relevance

Prototypes of your tools

Forward all immortals

I'll see you when your shows stop

Freckled glances

Eyes reflecting light

How strong I am

Demolish monsters

Social structure, constructs

Not fair, are I?

Nor earned,

Only fair skinned

Access

Access

Access denied.

Crookshanks, old boy!

The man turns around almost as if he doesn't want to, but obliges the other man, as he comes running towards him.

My Goodness, you stink.

Why of course! I'm a dog!

[The Festival Project ™]

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