Arm your fists with smashed bottles. Aim at the patriarchal portraits.Repacked s** keeps your interest as we were living f*** machines. Nothing falls early or too late. a**ault your pity. The revolted eye is closed. Her skin faints while this is your imagination of "l***". His language did not make us any wiser. Lift your eyes. Look trough new glasses. Get right-s** is not for sale.