i know that ink in purple resembling bruises don't alarm you much when they're on my hands. we would pretend to read shit like whitaker's full of sighs-accompanied with falling asleep hands and feet. i cut my hair off because i thought it would make you feel better about yourself while you grew out your existentialism fretting with the possibility of smoking cigarettes and reading bukowski. i was not what you wanted at the time, and frankly i am not one of the fourties you hide by your bedside.

---

Teksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.