#1
Blanketed brigades, distant and awkward combat. We spoke in hushes and winks and little white lies that muscle through the grapevines like those railcars I've never seen. We could be on Mars, it's a quarter past three, yet our mouths are buzzing like fireflies on a summer night, swarming around the mason jar we call home.

Oh no you don't, my little darling, this ain't no film and you're no starlit sky.
Tonight is all mine.
Just try and stop us, just try and stop us
From making a mess out of the whole damn thing.

Rewind the fade! We're not done contorting our moneymakers and spilling our faces into pools of paint that cakes our eyes, a daily reprise of an awful disguise. Gossip fills our lungs, brilliantly it streams, out into the open air of Carolina, north or south, it all looks the same to me.

Oh no you don't, my little darling, this ain't no film and you're no starlit sky.
Tonight is all mine.
Just try and stop us, just try and stop us
From making a mess out of the whole damn thing.

We've got the crayons, you've got the room, we're re-doing the walls and your decor is doomed.
(killers, play it back again, we're only the pipers of sainthood taken out of context, and we know what to do once we leave the room, that's right, you know, i know, we know it's on.)

Oh no you don't, my little darling, this ain't no film and you're no starlit sky.
Tonight is all mine.
Just try and stop us, just try and stop us
From making a mess out of the whole damn thing.

Sleep, sleep, sleep, sleep, sleepovers forever!
#2
spilling our faces into pools of paint that cakes our eyes
too many plurals, doesnt make sense


otherwise very interesting.