mandag 28. februar 2011
Oh, whatever, I don't really care
Stars with stains and heaven and afterglow
Beneath the ashes of echoes burried alive
They are howling through hollows
Once we share their temple of our arms
Now our heads are hung up on the wall
Susanne Sundfør - The Brothel
søndag 27. februar 2011
torsdag 24. februar 2011
onsdag 23. februar 2011
I am thankful that someone actually receives the prize that was promised by all those fairytales that drugged us
He once cut out one of my nightmares out of paper
I thought it was beautiful, I put it on a record cover
And I tried to tell him that he had a sense of color and composition so magnificent
And he said "thank you, please, but your flattery is truly not becoming me.
Your eyes are poor. You are blind. You see, no beauty could have come from me.
I am a waste of breath, of space, of time.
Bright Eyes - Waste of paint
tirsdag 22. februar 2011
You've fallen fast, just like a plane on a stormy sea
søndag 20. februar 2011
tirsdag 15. februar 2011
Till I go and kill the bottle
mandag 14. februar 2011
søndag 13. februar 2011
onsdag 9. februar 2011
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