2003-09-17 @ 10:55 p.m.

Mister Minuteman has nothing to say, but says it anyway. What a waste of breath, what a waste of time, what a waste. Simply wasted.

Mister Minuteman dances with angels and invites their demons out to lunch. Tap-dancing to the rhythms of caviar and valium. What a waste.

...and as for 'good', he doesn't believe in it, 'cause he's seen the sights of the sinners through his eyes.

...he's lived the life of the sinners.

Mister Minuteman runs on nothing but vodka and lies.

Mister Minuteman doesn't give a shit, he can't, he's scared shitless of what's become of him.

Mister Minuteman, won't you spare a minute for me? We can waste away, get wasted, waste a lay. Waste with me.

I want a Minuteman to waste with.

Waste away, waste some time, waste some breath, some life.

Waste a day with you.

I want to waste away with you.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Have you ever wanted someone who was just so out of your league you'd try to make yourself stop the infatuation you have over them?

Yeah, well, that's what's eating me...


Listening to: Myself, amplified

<<before - after>>

The Weather Underground - 2008-11-12
- - 2008-05-06
She knows I can read. - 2008-05-06
William Jacobson - 2008-05-02
Lost Boys - 2008-04-30

everything © Claudia (2003-2008)