kiddie cavalry, contemporary classicist with contempt for cliches, kill clashing colors before babies buy your record and relive experinces they've never had. we've been had, we've been had. have you had enough, because i think having said what i said i've heard enough. enough is enough and a horse is a horse is a horse, of course, but a better bitter branch of breezy emotion I've never seen. Hope? is a lie. lie down so i can get those clashing colors colored corectly. you're in shades of gray and grey and green and it is making me sick. i am sick of this relationship. i am sick of you. let me go let me go let me borrow fifteen dollars so i can fly away. you intimidate me, inasmuch as i'm intimidated by your intimacy. me, queen of the bad touch, queen of the bad luck, queen of the sad as such, intimidated by nonesuch touch as my own. it's a bit much but it's better than having no pluck and i'm getting distracted. put my words on your websites and put me to bed before i swallow lead, before i lose my head, before i'm left for dead. the breezeway bucked me off and left me with a fistful of shattered ribs. they slit my wrists and, left by misfits in a crying fit, they cracked my knees so i could see that the concrete attatched to my feet was really there on accident, but that didn't change the fact that right now i'm at the bottom of the ocean and my last gasping breath is occuring through the gills of the fish they wormed into my open screaming mouth. let me out let me out let me out.