Brad Holland
C ' and asphalt in place of the sky. The horn of plastic hanging from the rearview mirror is pointing up. Jump to trust the voices. You then gives me the shivers. I did not have trust, fuck. I put the belt, as a good, just that I can not loose. Maybe this time I did not take off points. How many, five? Ten? Five. You talk, talk, I blow in his ears, which then everybody knows the assholes of the world that women can not read road maps, fuck off. Do you smell that smell? This is petrol darling adored. What I like the smell of petrol as well, such as tarpaulins. But your voice christ, what a voice you have. I've got a small head, shut up if a guard just maybe I can open the door. I think it's stuck, I know that I love you, I know that this is not a good way to die. I had thought of something else. Maybe purposes, or as I know, in his sleep, while I whisper music. But you go fuck with me? At this point you could also tell me, dripping blood from my nose, towards the ceiling. Say something now, please, there is little time, I guess I faint. Fuck baby, go to trust the voices, then your. "wrong direction, reverse direction and turn left in 600 meters. The wrong direction, reverse ..."
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