Recorded in February 2011 for the RPM Challenge.
Some how the fruit sours. Loving coward of the demon flower. Despite our constant bickering the sea shell sings when listening. The wild rose cuts my chin leaving me with a stupid grin. Biting my tongue, talking through my teeth, just get me to the beach, escape is within reach. Wrap me in a towel for another half an hour, keep me from the streets the beach is chic. Under the sand they will bury me. Shooting shallow glare, life guard unprepared. Black pants, black shirt, black hair, black skirts. Behold, the tide has come. Once scorned, we plunge. Baring boards and braving sun, starry eyed tears run. Underneath the sand we can challenge time intertwined between dusk and dawn right and wrong is combined.
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