Just what you thought about my dog.

Never worry just a thing about that gashing wound in my head, I never cared so much about a tiny speck of dust.
We'll never know just quite how this all ended in the end, because we're just trash drunk on vodka and seaweed.
Let the world know just what this pianful memory means, advertise it like a red hot segway, and let it die.
Always and forever, never and for neither, loving just what the thing wants us to, hoping for something better.
Killing just for fun, listening to the screams of some little tiny mushroom. We'll see it all and we'll meet Peter or Paul, but this life was not their making. Nothing lived quite as often as that little munchkin who told us all about traffic violations.
The shiney side is up when we leave to let the love inside, this is never how we were supposed to make it out without our lives.
Contemplating, thinking about you, knowing just how much it will hurt if it was always just something captain Kirk knew about.
The stars are never so violently beautiful as they are when they are exploding from your head, knowing all about Mr. Ned and the life of those who make a living.
Carefree is all the gum we choose to chew it up and spit it out of our way, right back into to this random camaro, whith parking lights made of cheer.
My mother lent me another little clip of things called salvation in a sip, getting drunk on vodka and snowflys, we know who dies, just let it out into this world of terms.
Blackberries made into pie is a never ending number of songs I'll listen to before you turn your back to the future and here we will be.
I hope that I never get to see the end, the middle, or even when you get out of bed, it's so painfully morbid a scene, my heart skips a beat with each little heart attack.
These lips don't belong here at all, reminding me of all those little times that was a quarter past three and we never really saw the sun falling down.