domingo, 1 de agosto de 2010

She puts her makeup on like graffiti on the walls of the heartland.

She's got her little book of conspiracies right in her hand.

She is paranoid like endangered species headed into extinction.

She is one of a kind, well, she's the last of the American girls.



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The things I do for love.

When words became unimportant
That was when I understood
I was happy to have met you.
And somewhere in that time,
Silenty and softly, like feathers,
The snow began to fall.