it was a really sentimental crayola feeling but we went with it. color-kept everything within the lines but our faces. they flowed everywhere and jutted and sparked , spilled over and broke through like an autonomous heart in and betwixt all around the skeletal and beyond it. but prismatic not just red, like i said crayola.
then are argh our faces, our faces ah yeah faces are on the TV. see she says 'baby, our faces" and i agree "yeah let's always baby our faces Ooh,' and she's with:
- yes of course darling, but no i mean on the Tell-E!
and we dialed up the e-Tell, a sorta steampunk tablet that brought in broadcast signals not just via the web so yeah in truth it was the telly literally or nearly.
our faces. so that was it then, so clear that the lines were vertical, dig? so we split man (not going to wear the horizontals) right between them like we had just become famous for and then it was the twenties again - the 1920's - so we didn't stay and she went to the remix, as was her gift, and again we could dance to it. sentimental, crayola kinda cheesy dance because that was it (the holiday; i mean it was the holiday after all) right then: the mawkish embrace, the proper acceptable steps, the national raffle when we were yet again back on tv. but our faces had their way still, that was our hook. it was a good act, took us to stages all over the world, took us to the Vatican and everyone left - and still no one around. Been long enough now, we've accepted we are obliged to take charge.
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