Cliches Few Else

And your face is all about me every sign I pass is a song to your testament. Enduring mascara little lines seen in others flaws. On top of cabs my last stop the evening prevailed. My last stop in Manhattan, everyone is not built by you in one single day overnight success. Your fragrence is now all that's left a cliche others wear sprayed a cross between all the lactating breasts as all the babies grow it seems and day. Cliches are for all the younger women whom do aspire to those heights we have safely traversed and climb down from. And to see the youngest of girls the newest abreast with each other as once we we're.