Sunday Sunday Sunday

I'm told the eventual downfall
is just a bill from the restaurant.
You told me I could order the moon, babe,
just as long as I shoot what I want.
What the last ten minutes have taught me:
bet the hand that your money's on.
Where the hell have the '70s brought me?
You trade me away long gone
for the love of a god, you say,
not a letter from an occupant.

Journal Updated.
Hooray! There was a big pause, but I got busy.

Content Stagnant.
I went to see Scott Thompson, Bettie Serveert, Eugene Mirman's CD taping, and junk.

 

<-- (More Recent) | Sun - March 28, 2004 | (More Distant) -->

Posted: Sun - March 28, 2004 at 09:23 AM in :
©