He brushes thoroughly
He know she likes fresh breath
He rushes to the station
He waits atop the steps
He's brought with him a mars bar
She will not buy nestle
And later he'll perform
A love-lorn serenade, a trade
How can she become the psychic that she longs to be to understand you?
Sweet Potato by Sia
ginx vicioux
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
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