ºÝºÝߣ

Conceptual Strategist

You know, i remember when it was ice-cream headacches and sweet avalanche. when the boys in our shells got up to dance. They called me bad tip of the cradle, tired lawn of fawns for hunters lawns. We're the has beens of husbands, sharpening the knives of young wives. Takes two years and call me when your better, take these tears of mine and find yourself wetter.