A hootenanny of holy rollers couldn't have been more upset during a crusade of cursors than the cowboys were when a spasm of hard rockers entered the Boot Hill Saloon with a piercing of tongues.
The world's full of apathy, but I don't care. On one hand, I'm indecisive; but on the other, I'm not. I go the whole nine yards to avoid colloquialisms, and I have my doubts about disbelief.
My weathered cracks feel the cold despite the soaring temperature. All my passion has been wasted, and I can no longer look at my naked self in the mirror I