the crowds are all alone, temperature set in stone, tempers
are flailing because they have n*body, yet i don’t care. look
alive. a nervous narcotic speaks in fragmented code. the
stressed and the torn travel ambiguous roads. escape! young
one. tenderness has no place in the past. let’s sew it all up
and dress tomorrow in stainless steel. pressed against the
horizon in the wittiest sense, combed over in late fifties
fashion. disasters bring forth the most clever of men with a
knack for francois and the skill of disguise. oh no, oh no,
it’s just a simple play on words. scratch that, from here on
in, we’re on a first name basis. we feel fine, we are quite
alright and i could give a f*ck if we wake up this time.
amongst the sway of ticking tocks, the only key in a sea of
locks. please! just let the good times roll. the crowds are all
alone, tempers are flailing because they have n*body, yet i
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