Till a pile of styx
I had a sip, trying to drown
Out the ordinary, or throw it, like when we fought with Nelly
On the radio. Ours was Mexican, to keep the ratings low, and needing a plumber. Oh, are you still homicidal, joker style? The sun thuds as we give a thumbs up. You said I hope you die, yet he heard it as diet, while my foundation seemed a low key dial. But it was minor misdemeanoured; you didn't really mean it's just this minute
You want a kilometer bubble of personal space
Time cos you've come down
Stairs taunted enough already 30/20 vision of me and mine, or you, as fish in a radio, drinking till our heads are way more geo than the capital that fiends their war crimes, and everything we were as much as wore are crimes. Brother, you pass out like no other, and more
Do I wake and or sleep
Walk "is stupid"s along the way
Side effect of the goon and lemonade
hands me a painting.
I look back at him and hes not toohey but greene, not white but black, and when I look down, hey ding! I'm holding an eight ball, and around about eight call you, saying we should do some art, I mean crack. I'll be forty five minutes, you say, but it tracks about an hour to get here.
At tony's, good to be so but we wouldn't be so ourselves;
Up, we're elsewhere, running and running, into boats, smoothly amok, finding remote controls sixty thousand leagues under the seat. It was unlike us; neat. I go home only to record such nom events. With regard, your anomaly
Ps I only want to new watch the world, burn, joker style;
The hole in my heart is brand washburn; defile it
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