can't you hear those cavalry drums hijacking your equalibrium. midnight hags in the mausoleum where the pixleated doctors moan. carnivores in the cowloon night breathing freon by the candlelight. coquettes, bitch slap, you so polite til you thank them for the tea and sympathy.
i want to defy the logic of all our sexx laws. let the handcuffs slip off your wrists; i'll let you be my chaperone at the halfway home. i'm a full grown man but i'm not afraid to cry.
neptune's lips taste like fermented wine. perfumed blokes on the ginza line running buck wile like a concubine who's mother never held her hand. brief encounters in mercedes benze wearing hepatitis contacts lens. bed and breakfast getaway weekends with sports illustrated moms.
i want to defy the logic of our sexx laws. let the handcuffs slip off your wrists; i'll let you be my chaperone at the halfway home. i'm a full grown man but i'm not afraid to cry.
lyrical fitness
A long-time music lover who likes to share her genre-and-era-jumping playlists with the internet at large, even though only she reads them in the end.
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