[ don't cry. 'cause you're so right. ]
*bigrin* i want so much to save the world. i want to put it in a purple bowling-ball-bag and walk casually, sun-glassed past the white-haired fates on their dirty plastic lawn furniture, to wink at their scoffs. "bowling, eh? that's the poor man's game," they'll gibe. And liquid-quick will come my retort, practiced-perfect, "'tis indeed a poor man who seeks thunder without lightning. that's why i make electricity."
*puts hands in pockets* i'm singing, even though i don't know the words. always to the wind. hehe. but who am i? who am i to blow against the wind? |
