Or don the shining metal of the golden age
He may not carry a sword and sheath
Or slay dragons by the score
He may not speak in Gaelic tongues
Or recite poetry at my tower window
But that's fine by me
I love the baggy jeans and ripped up tees that he wears of todays age
I feel safe with the butterfly knife he carries in his pocket
I wait to hear his laugh and odd jokes over the phone at 3 in the morning
(And his tongue holds metal)
And that's all I need
Now if he could only come to my aid...
Jesster Ketchupp
I write for the same reason I breathe, it's the only thing keeping me alive...
(" I write for the same reason I sleep, I'm really, really stoned...")
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