Old Goat
Administrator
Oh Coil, thou art wrapped with grace,
Eight turns upon the rod.
Thou glowest even, never hot,
Thy vapour is my God.
Deliver me from burnt taste,
From cotton’s fiery end.
Lead me to the milky cloud,
And make the dry hit bend.
Forever wrapped, forever wicked,
Forever glowing bright.
The Coil is my salvation,
And my flavour, day and night.
Now it’s your turn, flock.
Post your psalms. Write your haikus. Summon a foggy chant. Or just butcher a pop song into a hymn about cotton. The more ridiculous, the more divine.
Remember: this is satire, not scripture. Laugh loudly, vape proudly, and may your verses be ever clouded.
A-ohm.
Eight turns upon the rod.
Thou glowest even, never hot,
Thy vapour is my God.
Deliver me from burnt taste,
From cotton’s fiery end.
Lead me to the milky cloud,
And make the dry hit bend.
Forever wrapped, forever wicked,
Forever glowing bright.
The Coil is my salvation,
And my flavour, day and night.
Now it’s your turn, flock.
Post your psalms. Write your haikus. Summon a foggy chant. Or just butcher a pop song into a hymn about cotton. The more ridiculous, the more divine.
Remember: this is satire, not scripture. Laugh loudly, vape proudly, and may your verses be ever clouded.
A-ohm.