Thursday, January 14, 2010

Bein' on your own can be quite romantic.

If I could land on my feet, you know, I'd be walkin' on the ceiling. Arms, legs, and limbs all flailin'. Hair stands on end, grippin' to it's roots as my face turns red and my feet turn blue. I'm walking with the spiders, I'm becoming glued, yet sometimes I still think this web isn't large enough for you...

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