zero hour nine am
...Mars ain't the kind of place to raise your kids_In fact it's cold as hell_And there's no one there to raise them if you did_And all this science I don't understand_It's just my job five days a week_A rocket man, a rocket man...
Vermelho-negro num frasco de vidro com rolha de cortiça, guardado no armário ferrugento da casa de banho. Poção-mágica? Veneno sem i? Planeta? Frente e verso em linhas descosidas.
...Mars ain't the kind of place to raise your kids_In fact it's cold as hell_And there's no one there to raise them if you did_And all this science I don't understand_It's just my job five days a week_A rocket man, a rocket man...
Posted by joana at 6:53 da tarde
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