





Every love that made me lose my reasoning. Every chord that made my conscience ache. Every day spent counting hours. Well, none of them comes close to singing back a song inside my head.
I remember calloused hands and paint-stained jeans, and I remember safe-as-houses self-belief.






Every love that made me lose my reasoning. Every chord that made my conscience ache. Every day spent counting hours. Well, none of them comes close to singing back a song inside my head.
I remember calloused hands and paint-stained jeans, and I remember safe-as-houses self-belief.



I have nothing to contribute. I just wanted to be in this great thread.
Kinda like how I was in your mom just now.
Band: www.colouredanimal.com
Twitter: www.twitter.com/mrperki
Blorg: mrperki.tumblr.com
Read my Seymour Duncan blog posts



I have nothing but admiration for the Japanese. They make a fine car. They develop good technology. They have a rich cultural history. They serve beer from vending machines on the street.
Just like the same way your mom takes her giant box out on the street and gives up the goods for change.



Well, let's not forget that they have a pretty weird side, too. I mean they did give the world tentacle porn.
I actually heard that the first story along those lines was written by a terrified Japanese tourist after he witnessed your mum having a few beers and murder-raping an entire chain-gang of convicted felons right there on the side of the highway. Apparently all he could see from under her gargantuan, sweaty behind was a few loose chains and rows of limbs reaching for help...
Every love that made me lose my reasoning. Every chord that made my conscience ache. Every day spent counting hours. Well, none of them comes close to singing back a song inside my head.
I remember calloused hands and paint-stained jeans, and I remember safe-as-houses self-belief.






Every love that made me lose my reasoning. Every chord that made my conscience ache. Every day spent counting hours. Well, none of them comes close to singing back a song inside my head.
I remember calloused hands and paint-stained jeans, and I remember safe-as-houses self-belief.



Vault
Band: www.colouredanimal.com
Twitter: www.twitter.com/mrperki
Blorg: mrperki.tumblr.com
Read my Seymour Duncan blog posts








no. crypt



Y'know, all this talk of moms and such is actually making me feel a little bad. I know we're just joking around, and it's funny, but I can't ignore the little voice inside that says "Kam's mom is probably a perfectly nice lady and doesn't deserve to be derided this way." To be honest, it's all sort of putting a bad taste in my mouth.
Kind of like how your mom puts a bad taste on my wang.
She doesn't seem to mind it, though.








its really you putting the bad taste in her mouth


