I’ve got my numbers in a row. It’s just your expiration date, babe.
Hauling the wanting (separate from everything I’ve learned and read) is a pristine illusion. Probing planets from miles away. Master of Nothing — except learning how to pretend. And you’re a poem that I’ve never read but who’s to know? Who’s to know?
I’ve got my numbers in a row. (It’s wild strawberry time.) I’ve got my numbers in a row. (And I’m fishing out of season here.) It’s just your expiration date, babe. (Pretend you’re not here.) It’s just your expiration date, babe. (Pretend you’re not here.)
ca

SOUMETTRE LES CORRECTIONS