Scazzi in the car of my own sadness predicting unprecedented in an April night when the moon looks from curious almost kidding. And bursts into tears and I'm tired and I am releasing the three. Someone wants to hug me and do not understand why they do not. Nebula in the head. Bursts into tears liberating and I do not need pity. No. I do not need pity if your hands are covering my face and pale with fear. Oh yeah. Oooh yeah. And I begin to fear the departure of my brothers. You take me Tuma said. Do you remember? We the same sweater. And I lie on the grass feeling Erlend Oye. I only listen to me now that I'm impossible and unattainable. Covered with good words that dance above. Super Ring, scream that you'd die laughing. Nocturnal activities to prevent my brain to rest quietly without interruption of tears and music that takes possession of me and my dream work. Because tonight I walked into pink and green striped pants in the shop Soul Food and robbed of everything. And then I dropped my teeth. And pink and green striped pants and green like the new cover it's fantastic to Blow Up, interview with Populous and electronic number, fuck BeautyCase Blow Up is ahead by at least two months. Love for the sixties and people who found sweaters striped yellow and fuchsia. Peloserrima magnificent history is around four-legged canines emitting sounds to be sampled model Sex in Dallas, which I never found pussies. Oh yeah, tomorrow, alone again. Oh yeah, I have the number of Child From Hell Vox. Oh, yeah, I find myself on the old fanzine Arrington's cell phone number of Old Time Relijun and are the happiest girl on earth. I love sorrows in the moonlight, very romantic and scream from the highest skyscraper in the world Do you want to get it for credit? Forget itDon't itCall bet in the medicIt patheticYou've's gotta let it go
cigarette between my lips if I had skeys would live for that. Hold your wrists while you eat my flesh. Virgin martyr bedeviled allow to what I have to peer into the green and soft huge breasts depicted in photographs to be used for my first demox. Super Ring punk'77. WoW! I look forward to smash fire red raspberries in the world. Cholesterol resulting from too much love in me. Should I care about. I still love million dogs. Of any race. I still love boobs, any size.
Dirtbombs and me together. Massacre of hearts by Mr.Bean. cousin to the actor with the same toy keyboard that tells me inharmonies pictures with little girls around them rebels. Made in the Church. Depeche Mode traveling between the myelin sheaths of Mr. Bean and black bags. He tells me shit that I can not decipher. Shit, you say? That speaks to me and I continue to write capendoci nothing really. Psychedelia in me. And I hear sounds This Modern Love. I'm thinking sounds unlikely to be mixed with the beats of my punk'n'roll. Oh, yeah. Felice is a big word. I would dress
strawberry candy. Chicken wings spread on my neck. Depend from licorice liqueur that I have on the desk.
Lovelovelovelovelove.
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