if i were your jukebox, experiment me beautiful 𓇼 when you put your token inside me… be imaginative 𓇼 pay attention to any figure of speech and tempo 𓇼 i'll make you bleed till you'll ask for transfusion 𓇼 playful, with rhythm and soul, i'll rock you till i fresh you 𓇼 tactic, it's my nom de plume, the new bad habit, [the game] 𓇼 anything's possible… if you could eliminate, — the if

I feel as if my eyes have kneeled down all your demons, while my lips metamorphosed them into divine effigies ruling and making your soul be a servant of my wishes for I've let your mouth nourish with my cute Darkside for all monsters, those zombies that wear beauty's mask to suffer fully, terrified by the boom-boom of your pulse. I feel as if my eyes have kneeled down all your demons. Now, your royal creature comforts me from all directions with your soul, — a fireplace with hotly and spicy sound of the sandalwood and cèdre through books' rustle, while their foliage, the lifeblood of a tasty lachrymose wine is revived in coffee beans, for nobody to feel silly with it.