The radio is on fire, but he doesn't need no water just Sean Paul and the elixirs of 21 it will undoubtedly give her stains in her underwear, but this night will just burn away leaving ashes, a trail of mice droppings, as evidence for this arbitrary moment of sweat and two bodies.
The lights are on and off like video game seisures, they all have something to hide; she and he are ugly during the day. In the darkest corner they coincide in the rhythm of lust, it doesn't need to lead to a bed, just a reminder of who they can be in the light.
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