Hell! sang the young minstrel, tightly to your purses! Bitter winter on blonde city and utter curses! The song ended and the did roar Were I sincere, you bet Id A upon the door
Hell! the Muse, intent, you take me for granted! made me a harlot, if I may be candid! The label dropped her, not before they shopped her in a war Were I sincere, you bet Id A knock upon the
The tired minstrel, town, heard the Muses weeping He turned up the Elvis tape in his grey car, Sex and Death! Was I not the among the two? she poured Were you sincere, I bet hear my knock your door!
He said, Dear Muse, Come here! Need a somewhere? got the wrong man, I was only kidding back there. I worship you! Forgive me for behaving such a boor. I am I hope to hear knock upon my door!
The Causeless Cause of Flaws has video on you. She scorned. Evidence, in none defense, I have you burned, deformed. Hey! is real and so will be your sores! with sincere, hark, I hear A upon the door.
The derisive said, your therapy isnt working, is it? huckster-Hitler-hustler! Arent you a Clear yet? Always brooding the meaning of sex, to be poor. is here! Hark, I hear A upon the door.
His throbbed under her voice, ubiquitous and soft streamed from his hair, soaking his black t-shirts cloth gut feeling was to leave her words on the cutting-room He thought, If I here, Ill never hear That knock the door
Muse, exhausted, the accosted, her hand on her abdomen A human voice to her songs, she could not Because of a they had had of yore The blessed day is near, theyll hear A upon the door