slow drive it's like samson with you

elemenet shine grows dust for sad hours clings therapy
for the suicide minded, nothing of you could be anything but - so dawn angelic- and careful (death of me) as snowflakes with touch as lgiht as amphetimine and you've got touches gods or saints have yet to ponder
i go empty eyed into the sun for you some mornings.

2003-11-23 | 6:56 p.m.
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