Orange fizzle down and out to the center stage corner of the courtroom like fire like honey slip through the valley to the belly of the beast where center run down to the tick tock redock the ship and go on leave.
Like recorders on repeat, no one would buy this music and no one ever changes their tune. The weasel, the arrogant, the twisted, the whore.
Stain your lips. Lipstick leaves a mark.
And I've followed you all over town.
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
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