Strip me bare and point and laugh, just don't walk away.
Now it's the Beachboys and Don't Worry Baby.
Why don't you just cut off my balls and stuff them down my throat right the fuck now.
Don't worry baby, everything will turn out all right.
Of course you could end up living in a sand box full of cat shit in the middle of your living room, but ...
Don't worry baby, everything will turn out all right.
Assume the position, the fetal position, and prepared to get fucked up the ass.
I wish I could take some sad song, any sad song, and loop it in my head, and play it until sadness lost all meaning.
Tuesday, June 14, 2005
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