Where do your lusted lips lay when the moon skirts through, When the the owl sweeps searching for his ill-fated shrew? Do they sit softly…
Where do your lusted lips lay when the moon skirts through, When the the owl sweeps searching for his ill-fated shrew? Do they sit softly…
It wasn’t the usual dainty cry, Where her mouth sags over and eyes roll in. It wasn’t lamb tears that drop away Creating a slow…
I bet the air is toasted in cigarette smoke While liquor glosses over the wooden trim. Everyone is smiling, including yourself, It’s just another Thursday.…