There may have been trouble in the city.
I don't know if there was. I can only tell you what I was told.

I want to be able to write of pain, torture and scars again.
But, all I have is anger and mild amounts of curiosity and hope.
Pandora's box?

Uff. I'm such a thief.

Someone I know got engaged. I attributed all that I wanted to say to another, and told the story in various versions.
I don't believe its political anymore. I'm afraid its personal.
But personal is political, no?

Live and let live.
Now, I'm just being a mouthpiece for a variety of annoying songs long forgotten.

You can cage the singer, but not the song. Really?