Wisconsin pines, collaborating with the day glow vibes. An altruistic breed of travel guide. It's chill, but lord knows you're trying. Zombie kids love to hear that easy.
See how the western kids. Have silicon inside their lips. A mask or an artifice. For the love that their parents give. The northern girls they play the part.
I see meaning where you don't, where you don't. I see waves of pastel orange and yellow paintings fire. I see futures that you won't, that you won't. I see futures where our nights are lost to condensation.
Sometimes I call it Tuesday. Sometimes I call it the best day of my life. Maybe that was a Friday. Making conversation with box of wine. Oh love. I'll only call you when I'm drunk.
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Posted up, fours got stained from everything. Sippy cups, here's to us and no one else. You're like me, piece by piece you fall apart. Island home, ain't a terrible start.
Mary packed her bags and left home on a Christmas Eve. For sea soaked skies and dashing lads with cars. An actress orphaned by the social constructs of her art school.
I'm blind and afraid. The colors of this sound like a shape. The feast of words you never could say. And I'm torn apart. In the sun, there is red. The epitaph of an old record player.
"I'll be fine on my own," she said. "I don't need you inside my head.". She'll be fine on her own. She'll be fine on her own. "I'll be fine on my own," she said.