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| quote: | Originally posted by nic01445
I used to be the same way, and then people started throwing the cards I made for them away, so I thought, "fuck it." |
I still have that Proust! card you sent me from germany with the beer on it and all the refrences to "negroes"
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The father made fetuses with flesh licking ladies / While you and your mother were asleep in the trailer park / Thunderous sparks from the dark of the stadiums / The music and medicine you needed for comforting / So make all your fat, fleshy fingers fingers to moving / And pluck all your silly strings and / Bend all your notes for me and / Soft silly music is meaningful, magical / The movements were beautiful / All in your ovaries / All of them milking with green fleshy flowers / While powerful pistons were sugary sweet machines, / Smelling of semen all under the garden / Was all you were needing when you still believed in me.
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