The last days of money are upon me.....damn contingency and employment. Something more essential is the lyrics needed for songs this week. [-Grrrr--*scribble, scribble*--'...monkey's?........where am I?'--(repeat until pencil breaks and is stabbed into eye)-] "What a FreAkin' Weeir-doh," Billy Jo McDammit screamed from the left Eyelid. How cloudy do you think it really is once pried open------
Waking drip-dried in the freezing depth of dilapidation, I become boxed warmth. Slippery grips of that Miser, that shit of American bred'n'fed Want. Fuck him, his phone, his accounting skills, and fuck this heater. I'm out.
Waking drip-dried in the freezing depth of dilapidation, I become boxed warmth. Slippery grips of that Miser, that shit of American bred'n'fed Want. Fuck him, his phone, his accounting skills, and fuck this heater. I'm out.