Knock me to the billow of the blow, especially as I presented that my intentions were sweet and kind, mind, I expected at least of you initially. Perhaps momentarily tricked by the sunshine, gallant gentry of fine prime time younger blundering fights, verbal recitals of the groups calls whistling our brotherhood. The river, mere and bleak I’ve never been too kind in its appraisal. Harshly its probably not nastily a fault of remembering even the bad for the good, but when you think about it, everything is worth it. Taking whats up for grabs isn’t weak, we’re supposed to be exciting.

Sensational memories might forgive what can never be forgotten and in the heat of the moment, others persistence renders you fully aware that potentially, you’re different. Yes. Its not knowing and still knowing what is missed is missed, playing and playing as an unending LP disc. Allow a come back, it will always be there, supposedly. It will always be then that what hurts the most, that you follow the road not knowing where it goes, and finally you look back and see what is done. Smirking, thinking there is never enough.

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