Lost in Translation 

​It’s no revelation that elation requires patience. Fuck complacence, I admire the burning fire of frustration, yearning as I perspire while turning any temptation into a creation of salvation I emblazon. God damn I stand for ovation! And demand a sensation for the duration of my dictation formation. The expression of lessons in an equation equals the vacation of vocation, a flow for flotation lost in translation. It’s no special vessel or occasion, I’m raisin quotation without the doubt of hesitation or evasion of abrasion. Any flirtation or fixation with outside persuasion is a guide, a glide, a slide, toward invitation for invasion.


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