A sweetly scented angel fell, she laid her head upon my disbelief, and battled with me with her ever smile.
Did you ever get the feeling that the story's too damn real?
Roll us down the mountain and I'm sure the fatman would win.
Snot is running down his nose, greasy fingers, smearing shabby clothes.
The sand-castle virtues are all swept away in the tidal destruction, the moral melee.
Be sure to leave your underpants with someone you can trust.