No longer in a relationship with the meaning of is, baby. Tragedy is always a bait and switch. Updated, anticipated. My profile hides my lazy I while yours mixes metaphors under London Bridge. Which? Boys are dying for the tingle of salt on their tongues. You heard me right. The word wasn't what it was when I circled the windy lake, sand hilling up like a documentary about the Dust Bowl. Face the music, darling, you're an open book when the flame turns your thin milk to bone. Tags: music, poetry Current Location: 85704 Muse: 5-4=Unity - Pavement - Crooked Rain Crooked Rain: LA's Desert Origins
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