In the void immaterial supposition of arisen questions of doubt. The don’t point your finger at me baby I’m lost. What does it all add up to? Shame? Guilt? Conscience? You find none more honest than a drunk.
In the void immaterial supposition of arisen questions of doubt. The don’t point your finger at me baby I’m lost. What does it all add up to? Shame? Guilt? Conscience? You find none more honest than a drunk.