4/27/08
if it's not sigma, then it's not
and i mean that, let's go fly a kite up where the air is clear -- it sounds better with the chorus... soaring soaring soaring, up where the air is clear, oh by the power of my concave chest i dedicate myself to windfarms... and i will always be the little crack in the basement
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1 comment:
that last line tastes like the alcoholic poet. i'm liking these shorts here crow. just for a small change. but i'm still writing large.
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