Of death and heels

My readers, as I said, my work can compliment each other. This being I am was not easy to become. Everyone lands with their own shoes and never someone else’s. You can merely imagine someone else’s shoes. Before I tell you what music is in my music mood today(I suggest you should listen to), I will tell you my thoughts. You won’t know otherwise. From every aspect of blackspace, the very top, above your ionic of clouds, to the very bottom of the oceans, from the beginning to the very end, I suggest those fake assed women with fake assed children know they deserve all the harm and evil they can get for all the evil and harm they do. Especially the French with fake heels and so called black pink and such, I suggest you wear your own shoes. Those high heels you wear don’t make you look like prostitute, you are prostitutes in them. And in my hands, those heels belong in your head from up. Ask the scientists how. Since I’m so called not smart enough. But you have no rendering to show me. You’re so smart you don’t know what shoes you wear. Don’t care if you hate me for it. You can eventually die your ignorant evil deaths—high heels embedded in your head, you producers of crimes and ills. So my music mood my readers, if you’re with me for dignity and truth and staying:

Down in the deep(keep me holding on remix)