Wednesday, May 21, 2008

Rude things your eyes never said
You store them up inside your head
And feed, all butter and bread
Cut the roll, cut them down
No one listens, no one wants you dead.

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After a busy day when confronting admin

 We must all come  Find ourselves And we will all be found Regardless  As the sun finds the morning As breath finds the lungs As I am found ...