Join the crazed institution of the stars.
The Christmas spirit is not what you drink.
Her legs went on forever, like staring at infinity through a wisp of cotton panty along a skin of satin sea.
Who would be a poor man, a beggar man, a thief, if he held a rich man in his hand?
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?