We point at the path of sticky entrails and we blame you.
Rightly So
There is mad, mad joy to be found.
dead me, dead you
This can’t bode well, can it?
bursting
Living in my head, it’s not such a bad thing.
YOU CAN’T SAY THAT, PT ∞
Not my personal Jesus.
Whine Town
shackles
You Can’t Say That, Pt 7
A heart monitor with no ups or downs reflects a dead heart.
