Mary, this station is playing every sad song. I remember like we were alive. I heard it Sunday morn' from inside of these walls. In a prison cell, where we spent those nights. And they burnt up the diner where I always used to find her. Licking young boys blood from her claws. And I learned about the blues from this kitten I knew. Her hair was rabid and her heart was like a tomb. My heart's...
http://you-belong.livejournal.com/63496.html (Cached) 0 links
Published: 4 months, 1 week ago (Wed, 11 Mar 2009 00:23:00 PDT)
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