Many phantom scarves and hats lie about on the floor, but Yolanda the spansih illustration is nervioso about her Hombre and i've got to sort through all these impossible reflexive verbos so i can sleep. random song lyrics compose themselves from my fingers instead: Every time i close my eyes/Another dream of you comes alive/Reach out to me and wrap me up/The night is like an empty cup.
Isn't life craSy? the moon turned Yellow like a massive Oval of grapefruityness Under a canopy of blackest satin. Rare is that Sight - it won't come again 'til 2010!
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