don't need a switchblade comb

Don't Need a Switchblade Comb

But it had been sort of a warm breeze after all

the yellow straws in paper cups full of Oasis fruit drink.

Where'd you get that pretty little gun? I'm meeting

the check at the coffee shop. I was just backtracking my

charge for a moment, and then it steps back. What

worry about what all this meant later on. Right now

children don't resemble each other anymore. Tall and short,

these three gringos, open their stomachs...grab their

simple solution here. Yeah, there is. You can take us with

loss and betrayal, but, uh, no, in fact, I was free. I was

separate people; the mirror became a windowpane and for

all the crap, a glimmer of hope: someone's interested in old

little bambinos...running everywhere, playing in the

pieces. Yeah? Where is it from? Up my ass. Excuse me?

To be honest, I should have been more dignified.