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'Disillusioned words like bullets bark
As human gods aim for their marks
Made everything from toy guns that spark
To flesh-colored Christs that glow in the dark
It's easy to see without looking too far
That not much
Is really sacred.'
Since this thread has passed the point of obnubilation, I might as well reply lyrically.
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And your little sister's immaculate virginity wings away on the bony shoulders of a young horse named George who stole surreptitiously into her geography revision.
Last edited by Morthoron; 09-10-2008 at 08:04 AM.
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