closet_death
moonshine
Cry
on
your
lap
We
dig
a
grave
,
dig
it
deep
You
smile
on
me
in
the
moonlight
of
skirts
We
grin
with
cucumber
seeds
and
tell
me
how
morbid
this
is
...
000908
...
.
.
050501
what's it to you?
who
go
blather
from
