Liger Woods wrote:word goood shit. i ain't know u was still around the internets. remember that shit you did with the american pie milf and the pm dawn shit dropped? those were the days.
Syllables crash, at work- crafting a verse Diving heads burst in this passage of birth: A holy grail of a tale, the masses at search- For the nail in my coffin- the last shall be first The wrath of a curse, ink screams in my veins Writing tattooed memories, dreams of decay Graves of the past for the...
felt like attempting to put something down on some Sigur http://www.soundclick.com/bands/pagemusic.cfm?bandID=28174 broken: Her promises... My heart on my sleeve The condom conundrum when I was conceived An outdated mind state, so y'all can believe- Even a dead King can live in a Dream Records of Pa...
Her promises... My heart on my sleeve The condom conundrum when I was conceived An outdated mind state, so y'all can believe- That even a dead King can live in a Dream Records of Past... Legends wither when passed Dave Matthews Crash into Me, Mr. Glass A wife's water... A man, husband, and father- H...
the fundamental flaw of the Republic Party is that they think that it's efficient for government to restrict economic and socially productive behavior because it's against one group's morality. It's quite moronic... almost as moronic as Democrats who think it's efficient for government to give it's ...
cimmyyyyy, nice to read something from you. still recording at all? Man... I've been way too busy with school and work. I just got back from spending a couple months in Spain. Great trip. I'm glad to see you are still making music and making moves. I'll send you something if I get time to record so...
XX Puedo Escribir Pablo Neruda Puedo escribir los versos mas tristes esta noche. Escribir, por ejemplo: 'La noche estra estrellada, y tiritan, azules, los astros, a lo lejos.' El viento de la noche gira en el cielo y canta. Puedo escribir los versos mas tristes esta noche. Yo la quise, y a veces ell...
Spring to life pictures, this page of white winter
For her, sweet nothings, everything in night whispers
A nerve, hunt for the meaning- pleasure or pain
Prey that I