Текст: Tilt. Collect 'Em All. Storm Center.

You've captured my imagination, charasmatic mess, in the wake of your =
devestation, I'm your best work yet. Fascinating back drop of romantic =
poverty, obsessed with herbs and healing cures, obsessed with healing =
me! But you're the one that's dying, a sudden downpour fading fast, =
rapidly unwinding to a bitter draft. Around your high poetic brow, =
around your pleasant neck, a veil of grandiosity competes with epithets. =
You're better off relying on meteorology than to keep on justifying why =

you impose on me. Your path of mass destruction will blow right by me =
now, you dissipate your energy you cannot knock me down.
Submitted by: Mel