11-27-2017, 08:57 AM
(This post was last modified: 11-27-2017, 09:47 AM by Quixilated.)
when my beau gets tense
i rub his winged back
i sing him silly tunes
to lure him off the track
make an art of falling prey
to wishful wistful wishing
since cupid let fly with his bow
i'm incapable of thinking
The Doctor lives in a great big little box
It’s old, but it flies (and it’s blue)
We make an art of falling up
As we travel through space (and time too)
i rub his winged back
i sing him silly tunes
to lure him off the track
make an art of falling prey
to wishful wistful wishing
since cupid let fly with his bow
i'm incapable of thinking
The Doctor lives in a great big little box
It’s old, but it flies (and it’s blue)
We make an art of falling up
As we travel through space (and time too)
The Soufflé isn’t the soufflé; the soufflé is the recipe. --Clara