Monday, August 15, 2005
Don't ask me, to tip joyously through the daisies, or look for little fairies. Quite frankly I'd find it a bore.
Your always in never, never land, without even going, out the door.
Your life's a parade, it never rains, expressed behind drawn window shades.
Let me refrain, with a clasical touche. Your life's like a painted clown. Wearing a red rogue simle for display.