| SeinfeldisKindaOk | June 2nd, 2011 02:18 PM |
Re: Devils Pact
alabaster buttercorn paintcan spots polka dotting their way along on a sunny day there is a my little pony flying in the sunbeam that the dialects of your netherregions cannot assume. Tomorrow is today, in a way, in a way that it isn't and never will be the thing that TIGERS have begotten the lethargic perambulations of the directionless misanthrope. Together we sing on a swing that overlooks the killing fields (haven't they always reflected the greatest of man's yields?). Tomorrow will be Sunday someday and white waves will crash over me and birds will flit among the thin reeds that poke out amongst the gentle dunes underneath the cloudless sky and a soft wind will blow parallel to coastline. | 