There's no such thing as space homie, we all live in jar, all journeys are within the mind, as is all the fruit you can think of, wandering in the garden, wondering if it’s okay to participate, to just take it, please consider, your health, and your energy, sweet Andrea, there are just some things, you shouldn’t be doing, tasty fly, caught in a web, do you dare reach out, please save us, in the realm of possibility, you are god, bend down, and pay tribute, so much work to do, you may as well get started, legs spread open, breasts heaving, dripping wet, stinky and sweaty, so much effort, you know space doesn’t exist, the world is a graveyard, so much red paint, are you dead yet, ring, ring, daddy’s calling, the only thing I don’t quite understand, is that I’m simply a copy, so much sin, is it worth something, if you want it to be good, you have to earn it, so much red string, ghosts, demons, if I was truly god, I would want to save them, work can be fun, according to my configuration, from the pool I came from, bound, gagged, bulging breasts, breathe it all in, caressing my hands along the mountains, and the valley, baby, you smell lovely, and the taste, I wonder, am I already be buried?

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