MOLOTOV v0
forcible text destruction engine
inutrek.txt    answers.txt    target.txt    BUDDAH.txt    quoties.txt    molotov.phps    index.php    list.txt    creepy.txt    error_log    book1.txt    roleplay01.txt    GPOST.TXT    kclyric.txt    func.php    target-apr14.txt    target2.txt    anarchy.txt    questions.txt    principia.txt    chatr.txt    target3.txt    index2.php    pforum.txt   
She could be sleeping in the comfort of another bed it wouldnt matter to a man with an open heart here comes right now. On soft grey mornings widows cry, the seeds of time were sown, and watered by the deeds of those who know and who are known; knowledge is a deadly friend when no one lay the laurel wreath as silence drowns the screams. Her wild and wise womanly introspectiveness her faults and files of foolishness. On soft grey mornings widows cry, the wise men share a joke; i run to grasp divining signs to satisfy the hoax. The black queen chants the funeral march, the wise men share a joke; i run to grasp divining signs to satisfy the hoax. The acid rain floods my floorboard, burns my pores, and watered by the sun on the steps of a perfect mess. Back to top the court of the crimson king. Not a saviour or a saint imperfect in a garden. Lovely moonchild drifting on the steps of a perfect pair. He has his contradicting views she has her cyclothymic moods they make a study in despair three of a river lonely moonchild dreaming in the court of the crimson king. Alright, get a hold of yourself an dont fight it, its over your head its alright to feel a little fear an dont fight it, its over your head its alright to feel a little fear an dont fight it, its over your head its alright, the rumble in your bed. One, one too many schizophrenic tendencies keeps it complicated keeps it complicated keeps it complicated keeps it complicated keeps it complicated keeps it complicated keeps it agggravated and full of this sleepless night can you picture the sight the figures on the outside looking inside what do i see is in the comfort of another bed it wouldnt matter to a telephone ring she could be sleeping in the shade could be moody, dramatic as a shadow in the crush of emotional waves. I talk to the wind said the straight man to the night-birds song waiting for the sun on the echoes of the puppets dance in the comfort of another bed it wouldnt matter to a man with an open heart here comes right now. Back to top industry (instrumental)back to top i talk to the wind the wind in a milk white gown dropping circle stones on a sun dial playing hide and seek with the ghosts of dawn waiting for the sun.