She’s a psycho in her big, brazen feelings. She’s a psycho in her right, a psycho to the tune, immune to alien bites and full moons… a psycho – complete by candlelight. Should she find the time to keep her esoteric guise in place? Should she wear a deviled mask, of sweat, pain and grace, a sweaty beaded bulk inside her rose-colored sun, a drumming of her ego’s quick escape?
Protection in psychosis; her guise plays along, prolonging common sense, her truly awesome fate, extending each and every grimy hiker as of late. Can she find the path with crystallized light inside a song? Should she bother?