I’ve Removed the Clicks......

I've removed the clicks from the V-3 Summer '98 CD, and it's just blasting away now. Rock us. A bruised pageantry of sordid details burned at the stake. Joan giggled like a schoolgirl when they burned the bitch. Was he mistaken as a messiah? No, maybe the garbage man. Perhaps kings, queens, and soiled ladies-in-waiting handed him their smelly, crimson-stained rags, and he chuckled like a demonic clown, soon to be beheaded. Punished for the crimes hе never actually committed, but yеs, they were devised in the house of molds while being zapped like a bolt, God's maker, God's acre. This fuck smolders, and to hear it is to be set free. Among the gilded lilies, among travesty and heartbreak, among a childhood of ruin and a son he never quite was capable of holding on to, the deterrence rode him like a destiny divided, like a kingdom full of sarcastic, unforgiving drag queens. Did we ride past this ghost town once before? You were talking on and on about Richard Harris or Tom Cruise, or how Kidman's cunt was too much like a Tasmanian brush fire. I was ashamed for you, guilty of all the pettiness I once believed would save us. The car wouldn't start, our wreckage was weighing us down, down like a clown smoking cigs in a psychic dance hall. Sometimes paranoia disguises itself as retribution, and you must huddle inside many unfriendly holocausts, before granted a peek at the miracle within. Yes, Harry has got a razor, he is looking at his face, he knows I'm with his girlfriend. Fuck, they fought so much, why can't I fuck her? Why am I not allowed to be happy? This orgasm will last longer than 45 seconds, this I promise you, over and inside, where it counts, one, two, four, eleven, nine, seventeen, four and a half. We must be off now.