Hard cell sheet dust cake fingernail bum-out.
Whatever, I don't even LIKE music; my "FIELD" is my "field."
I'm saying I broke my nail, you know?
Never thought I'd be so much a woman, stacking books.
I'm saying I broke my nail on a book; my mind is mildew, my look is "eh."
Help me, I can't even talk to you. I am or am not an observer of culture, unclear.
Cell creep sporehaus, we do it "because we must."
Ugh, my art is to rest. It's in my heart, I guess.
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