I observed the little things: the swaying of scarves, the king of
hearts' clever suicide attempt, a slowly decaying corpse
sprinkled with shotgun shells and that "alive" look gleaming in
its eyes. The distinction between truth and tale exists in the
most crucial of times and explodes like a wine cork getting shot
into the night, disappearing under stars and blood while
exaggerated through war stories and battle wounds. In retrospect,
we dwell on childhood memories while a rain of white lies and
battle cries create the stage. The last name is embarrassment
preceded closely by reliable. The mind seems to outrun the body
and the closeness between me and you is ironically the same as
the distant from New York to Duxbury. Shake it up.
Send "Ready Set Explode!" Ringtone to your Cell 