A billion people died on the news tonight.
All caught up in the trends, well the truth began to bend.
His dreams are like commercials.
Lookin at herself, but wishing she was someone else because the body of the doll that don't look like hers at all. So she straps it on, she sucks it in, she throws it up and gives a grin.
Looking at himself, but wishing he was someone else. Because the posters on the wall, they don't look like him at all.
Plexi, plexi, bend don't shatter. Once you're broken, shape won't matter.
She barely understands her dreams of belly button rings and other kind of things. Symbolic of change, but the thing that is strange, it that the changes occur, and now she's just a part of the herd.
Sure, the killer was my son, but I didn't teach him to pull the trigger of the gun. It's the killer on this TV screen, you can't blame me, it's the images he sees.
Most importantly fighters in my day knew the most important art in boxing - feinting.
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