Some days push up allot of daisies.

In different ways some days push up daisies.

In some days you have to die to push up daisies. 

Other days your daisies are roses. 

Today your Rubbing it in there nosey's. 

Daisy's have to be made into a chain, lucky for you all that's one of my skills. 

I will link the chain and break the chains the common man's in. 
The suffering will be no more, once I have settled the score. 

Popping up daisies, fuck the butter cups, they only tell you what you like. 

I produce daisies and there honest and there nice. 

They grow naturally, popping up in conversations, popping up in destinations, popping up cause the people need you. 

There's always something else to do. 

And the things are everywhere. 

Something, nothing, over things. 

Over you. 
Over all the used too's. 

It's all poos. 

Bent things, straight things, worst things, best things, all-sorts of things. 

Stay away from the things. 

Except change things. 

Those time people are alright. 
They have insight. 

The skills of the student's of life are hard. 
But that little one, has had to suffer, might make sense one day. 

And all will come to fusion. 
And it will fuse in distribution. 
And human kind will sigh in relief. 

Finally some one has shared the common grief.