slowly and i want it to stop; the elevating drones of my neighbors breeding accelerates the hand of the clock, and i'm defeated: my pulse goes cold at the heel. i try to follow the feeling, but i'm never so clever in the evening.
i wouldn't say no to a few friend
but i'm scared to admit that i know someone. there's always hope from the beginning in trading tales, we come prepared for the end and the art of lying.