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Jolie plante

de Bob's Not Dead

... And there she goes, perfecting lonliness at 3am. The radio is humming tunes of forgotten songs we love, songs we hate, songs we crave, songs we buried up to this date you'll see.
Grab a knife, no gun, better gasoline, stick it in, kill all you felt. Burn ut up yeah, cut em up yeah, show the motherfuckers we ain't playing.
Guess what? Now, to this date we worked we'll but bitter days came across and puzzled what I hate you and your fucking friends too.

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