My name is Mr. Touchshriek Of Touchshriek with mail over and fantasy My shop sells egg shells off the shesores and empty females I'm thinking of leasing the room above my shop To a Mr. Walloff Domburg A reject from the world wide Internet He's a broken man I'm also a broken man It would be nice to have company We could have great conversations Looking through windows for demons And watching the young advance in all electric Some of the houses around here still have inhabitants in them I'm not sure if they're from this country or not I don't get to speak much to anyone or that sort of thing If I had another broken name Oh, I dream of something like that
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