Almost every day. I see the same face. On broken picture tube. It fits the attitude. If you could see yourself. You put you on a shelf. Your verbal masturbate.
A dead issue, don't wrestle with it, deaf ears are sleeping. A guilty bliss, so inviting (let me in), nailed to the cross. . I feel you, relate to you, accuse you.
I see you had your mind all made up you group of. Pitiful liars, before I woke to face the day, your master. Plan transpired, something told me this job had more to.