I can't talk the jive but I'm very good at writing it.
Don't even know how to talk and I don't bother listening.
I'm petrified of the dark.
The only way I can explain it is with lights on.
Do you know what the hell I'm writing about?
Because I forgot.
It'll all come back to me in a dream.
I was born for so many centuries.
I've been dead for a thousand decades.
Living and dying every day of a year.
A toast to my ghost.
I can't paint a picture of a saint but a sinner I ain't.
I still can make a maiden faint.
Love Jon Billet 02/28/13
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