Well, you asked for it...
The dreams that were that children make
All lie in places dusty and dim.
Memories that with passing day
Become false photographs
As venom seeps away.



Edit: "You don't understand me or my music, don't click 'I like this!' See if I care, harumph!" (storms off in huff and throws up cheap cider on hideously patterned brown 1970's duvet cover)
(Wascally Weasel now with 100% fewer jokes., Thu 11 Aug 2005, 14:53, Reply)