Art through prescription (without people dying because my girlfriend didn't like it)

Well i had a lot of shitty friends lot of conversations, lots of little things that prove the accusations weren't a load of shit East-deep in the south, where the deer whisper things Goodnight. Deep in the woods, not a man to be seen. Just the fluttering of moths, in a casket of green. And cicadas here don't die, they live and breathe and f*ck live, breathe, f*ck live, breathe, f*ck.