Founds total 2 songs
An Orgy Of Critics
Sweep the black super market. Sweep it up with your teeth. Put your feather in a box. (Take off, take off). Send it off to me. . I smell oxygen, precious.
Admit It
Admit it. Despite your pseudo-bohemian appearance. And vaguely leftist doctrine of beliefs. You know nothing about art or sex. That you couldn't read in any trendy New York underground fashion magazine.
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