Friday 5 October 2007 photo 3/3
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I picked you out, Of a crowd and talked to you. Now it's two o'clock. The club is closed, We're up the block. Your hands on me, Pressing hard against your jeans, Your tongue in my mouth, Trying to keep the words from coming out. You didn't care to know. Who else may have been you before. But you, but you... You write such pretty words, But life's no storybook. Love's an excuse to get hurt. And to hurt. Do you like to hurt? I do, I do. Then hurt me, Then hurt me, Then hurt me...
Annons
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