Minggu, 04 Maret 2012

das Gradiola

The heat.. Feline smell atop your hair. The cold, that burns thy holly flesh. Grind me O hollow fa routs.. Rum pam pa rum pam pa.. Sing me the melody of onset, of onslaught, of rums and wodkas. Papas breath akin to global meltdown.. The endless onomatopoeia.. Hahas..

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