The Moon's brittle touch feeds tonight on the dead sky, silence brushes across the shore. Tonight in the clarity, hope has became the sand,

for a lot of money for his ..... well just cause i need money does it have to be some sort of holiday or birthday to want alot of money

it would be great to get sick if they paid you for all the snot. I would be rich by now....

too sick to give a good plurk

lurked in your world long enough its time to flabbergast it

seen a future that sings like gold

I knew this day ... this very hippy day would come ... I have been asked to join a band.

we are all made of star stuff

/me smacks Lisa with a plurk

may i Plurk you?