Them
By Bigheadbob
The clock strikes The bell tolls Hidden face In the woodwork Spies for all of "Them". Drivign around In my car Not knowing They are there Spies for all of "Them". Whatever I say Is relayed To that giant computer In there head Spies for all of "Them". Im not the type To gossip Just tell it How it is Spies for all of "Them". They think that I Bad mouth them Behind there Fucking back Spies for all of "Them". But everything I say in private I would say Right to there ugly face Spies for all of "Them". So in the end I have no friends Because I tell the truth.Not that i want any friends anyways Written April 6th, 2002 © on Apr 06 2002 02:12 AM PST 18 • 0 • 1
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"The clock strikes..."