MJ, you might want to look at this.

There were suds in the basin, and she looked down and within
While a black pearl halo was washing away

She no longer lives
In her home made of steel

Though her place will be taken
Her scent softly lingers
Like the phantom feel
Of her touch against my fingers

Give me one little breeze
Philonotis fontana
The earthen whispers
Drunk in your yard

Marco is remembering a time long ago, before people threw away their dictionaries so they wouldn't be able to look up what “policy” means, and before they started foaming at the mouth and mindlessly spouting metaphors with the word “stick” in them.

Seeya later, aggregator
After a while, OPML file

Like I was telling Barbie, Francis was right. The Sadies were fucking awesome that night.