Belief born by chance, from a speech contaminated with pure two-timing touch and broken ..., drunk in the company of ethnic (or imploded?) '84.
devastate the throat that screams for mercy. We take something stronger? Virtual and Coca-Cola, just as they wanted. Voice, Where Art Thou? In the kick drum or the guitar sbam guitar_boy Mat? Crazy mouse darting between words and smiles of utter indifference. Confusion in my mind. I lost control. I'd scream again. With that guitar that I can not dominate, chords little docile. I lost control and someone claims his CD. Belle and Sebastian do not have them myself. Sterk hair, finally. Low for us, yes? Converse and me, Peacheck. Converse and me. Past that returns an apocalyptic vision of how my mother to the world and the things that happen. I could say that today I live for fruit jellies encountered in the hands of a child of five years. Maybe it works really well. Perhaps this is what could make me reborn. Vocal cords ripped and picks blacks consumed movements vaguely sixties, Virtual & Coca-Cola, who beat sticks hard over the head, trains and fuck the pain away, for the Time Being.
Love for what they neglect. Hate to what hurts me and I will continue to heal. Expression through schitarrate slight as not to cause pain to those who deserve it. Parallel realities are totally different and far He goes by where I do I divide and multiply into a thousand facets that confuse me. My eyes have been at home with the angel wings of straw and white dress that I would fly on my bed, happy. Countless people in my speeches. It omits the names, so to do.
I do not play guitar. I want to scream you.
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