i lost my mind in cambridgeshire tramping over soggy fen my rubber welly boots on fire with messy lust and then a genetic inclination brought me back to where boys queued up to dance with you, it's only fair that they should be given a chance too but i assured myself that they'd never strike a deal, this is all just another temporary measure i lost control in the île de france with the virgin mary warning me against getting drunk again at an irish dance, advice i ignored, but in my defence i've never been a religious man and if i had to swear on my holy book it would be with shaky hands holding on for the second coming, and it took me a while because of her accent, call me stupid but does this mean anything at all?
