Beautiful veins, and Blood-shot Eyes -april 5, 1994. A shot has echoed through us all, and I am left here alone. One Chuck Taylor on, a broken toe in filthy sock of my shoeless other foot. I have no gun powder on my hands. Merely an empty remnant of oxi-cotton. Three days alone and we were all found in a garden. A stranger in a sort of rock n roll limbo, we wait for our next suicidal saviour to hide in. But Kirst said, we must remember the music, and so we do, and though I've never gained a knowledge nor learned a secret that would damn or save my soul, a bell has rung once more and a phoenix is born. "What else should I write? I don't have the right." | �Repitition of Hatred�Loveless Avenue�Burn Out (and) Fade Away �Plofile�Notes�Host�Archive� |