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• Artiste: P.S. Eliot
• Titre: Peach
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tell me there's a reason i sit and speculate the suitable season 95 everyday i guess that you choose distress my stamina will recess and you proceed clumsily tripping over the debris tell me you remember new york was hot as hell amity and new ports we bought them somewhere else your disregard poked like a thorn i recite it from memory as you drag your focus through me our summer's indiscretions they're fuzzy like a peach your aid is less assuring when you can't practice what you preach i worked too hard to watch you fuck it up and try my luck and i won't tell me that i'm right or tell me that i'm thinking straight i got caught up and you're a few years too late the bright lights, the beer on your breath middle school chaos contest play up the prophetic view our summer's indiscretions they're fuzzy like a peach your aid is less assuring when you can't practice what you preach i worked too hard to watch you fuck it up and try my luck and i won't tell me there's a reason and i won't