We sing the song of the seven children and the father who so lovingly murdered them. The chorus is written in stone. The verses are written in radio waves. We reach. We pull. We pluck a verse for you, sweetling - always for you.
I'm still young and idealistic. I've never tried to bury a tank. Or building. YET.
Madness string 43310
You were a hurricane of blowjobs and glitter makeup. You came out of the closet and took the house down with it.