Word to the wise. Curse. This is not that. Everything is coming up roses. Like when you’re dead. Silence is the sliver lining. Taken for a ride. Mobile factory address symbolically. Lesson left unlearned. To bosom turn to tears. Crossed with something strange. Foreign to you. Face. Exotic. Pleasure map. Nothing is what it’s cracked up to be. Intense landing. For blood. Carefully adjusted.
Christmas doorstop. Combined with everything else. All other trap. Correspondent. She’s the one who laid it down. And you don’t even know her name. Game. Life. Reason for her violence against you. Hide.
Say the thing that everybody wants to know. Like them better when they’re broken. General movement in the area. Sign. Push the same thing down their throats. Again. Anniversary.
What the working man would say. Calibrate. Break for air. Speed. Too close to tell. Any sort of kiss. To start with. It’s the young men who get him. All the women go to her. And so. Father is ok. It’s not really about you until you say it’s not.
Not the standard bearer. And the show starts later than you think. How to break the curse. Ask a random anyone. It’s got to do with the cup runneth over. Sailor. Tailor. Spy my eye upon a colour over there. The period is sooner faster coming end to end to next. Too. Play. And scene. Everybody left eventually.
Who is going to help you now. Ones who are the only ones who know that you are going to be there for them.
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