Sunset and happiness falls on both sides of the Earth, Mr. Stewart reminds me of times, lil’ does he know that line he did; struck a chord that grew vines that was meant to die. Babylon had its extensions, like every other collective never did a gala time go bad, exceptions; a few! Luck was made of mental bubbles, now its made of slogans of footwear.
Now gimme’ gimme’ – gimme’ back my bullets, you cry of the lack of opportune and I cry of a trail left. This fair or not; time would tell – the likeness of a nice thought over on that side of the Earth, knowing this side is good – erratic if you may with niceties and a warmth never imaginable – something on the lines of sunsets and happiness on both sides of the Earth.
