Texty:
Blueline Medic The Apology Wars

Seventy-two now and as mad as they come, but even so, now on occasion there's a few come and help Put a crucifix, a portico just like there is at the

She's standing at the door and getting one thing clear I throw the book down and march right into their eyes I'm reduced to almost nothing now Still,

I'll spend this day in a reverie I won't focus on anything I don't have to I don't feel the need Look at the others with contempt or is it envy? I'll

No call this morning No sleep at all Not getting any answers searching through telephones Oh absence, take form Half cold in a king size dawn Breaking

Lathered up and weepy The informant told me And none too sympathetic That our run would turn And standing sent to burn In decisions, hard print and whatever

It's almost a shock This lint I keep dusting off Why am I here? Am I being covered up? And after being ripped out from what little wall space I found