Jan 31, 2007 20:39
I'll never make love in this town again. Everyone on the dance floor is doomed. Hit the ground. Shut your mouth.
The prisoners have laid waste to the pulpit. You're in for it now. Are these helicopters for me?
Have I been appointed to speak? Then I'm going to Hell, and I'm taking the renaissance with me.
and that is how i feel on the eve of my birthday. for various reasons