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Where ever I go, chaos surrounds me. Idolizing the perpetual bliss. I'm creating my existence as I see it normal. Imagination or reality? This is my way.
You've avoided questions that could've easily spoilt the mood. Like where does my girlfriend work, what's her favourite food?. I think I know someone who could give me an alibi.
We're taught that after the war. The Nazis vanished without a trace. But battalions of fascists. Still dream of a master race. . The history books. They tell of their defeat in 45.
Oh where are you going? said Milder to Moulder. Oh we may not tell you! said Festel to Fose. We're off to the wood! said John the Red Nose. We're off to the wood! said John the Red Nose.
Spirit let this be it I have had enough. You the mother of fear lend me my courage. And let it guide me through the fear of life. I'm begging, I'm pleasing you to complete me.
Watch ben johnson on tv. Or try to beat your own pb. The choice is yours. You decide. Get square eyes. Or get outside!.
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Preaching to the masses as a leader of rats. Leading the undefeated to circle the ground. March of the irrelevant, concatenated. Bringing the mass psychosis in production.
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And you know this is just like a children's fantasy. It's like a scene from "the singing ringing tree". But I can tell by your face that you're plagued with doubt.
Full employment, slave labor and schemes. An unemployed workforce, the capitalist's dream. But let's keep Britain working. Either way we must keep Britain working.
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You are perfection personified. While, frankly, she's undignified. Trust me, she disgusts me, she dares me, she scares me. She bites me, excites me, annoys me, destroys me.
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In my dreams I've seen brutal scenes of war. Acts of sickness and plague spreading around. I glorify the ground as I wander. The aura of life surrounds me as the day turns to night.
It's almost unfair that someone should be quite so stunning. When they said that you'd called for me I came running. Your perfect hands. Those few loose strands of hair that are out of place, falling across your face.
Matador impaled upon the horns of the beast. Tossed and flipped, a sequined rag-doll. This frightened, tortured, mutilated animal. Has got it's own back once and for all.
This is the beginning of the end. From this point on and on. Nothing will ever be the same again. My life is going its own way, running its own race. .