Saturday, February 23, 2008

We're sinners....but we've got style

She said you're fake and you mean nothing
but I can't help that no one else is real and that this is nothing
I can't stand to sit here and fall under pressure
Thoughts form clouds form tornadoes
Distraction is destruction
Fiction lends friction
Somehow this has to slow down
We have got to stop or else
Well else has happened
Malignant tears run down her face
I'm inclined to be benign
The passageway to being passive has been filled
No one can go through this again

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