infinite cream, again.
these are my glory days. belly to ear, ceremonies on the asphalt. our laughter scorching the sun as we paw at it ceaselessly. and where are the aliens? we've been wringing the sky, scrubbing it, purifying it for minutes now, and still no sign of a single delightful saucer to take us to where we truly belong. land right here, on our hearts. pin us to this pointless patio until our dying days. and we melt with our thoughts of strawpaper jetstreams.
i hear a bell. let us run through the dark and dead and dull like blissful, british pioneers until our bodies burst with appreciation. until our breathing grows heavy with the pound of our heels on the staircase, we fit, despite his complaints.
i hear a bell. let us run through the dark and dead and dull like blissful, british pioneers until our bodies burst with appreciation. until our breathing grows heavy with the pound of our heels on the staircase, we fit, despite his complaints.