Rock am Haeckselplatz

Hey Rock Am Haeckselplatz, Your eyes show as many deep and full shades of fire as a thousand supernovas. You turn the atmosphere ablaze with currents of sweet ethylene when you smile. A starfish's lifelong hallucinations of gelatin pools and of actuaries floating upon the foam and reciprocal ohm. Polished rock candy comes ever to mind when thinking of you. Your cleverness helps me breathe without the need of oxygen. The elves that play in the toasters wash their drum sticks in honey and sing strikingly colored anthems in perfect harmonious pleasure. How can I help but use your eyes as a means for self-asphyxiation? You breath as delicately as vapors flowing towards an attractive flame. Your hair sends forth a sheen remniscent of golden sunlight winding through shadows. May you always have stables of horses to service your needs. In your presence even my shadow acquires the sensation of touch. If I could have just one wish, it would be to wake up to your songs in the morning. So charmingly silky, your skin is like a teardrop on a popsickle.

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