Text: Picket Line. Chapter:End. Sunday Mistress.

I?m plotting what ill say to you last night now go lay dawn and pen out your mind. Now concentrate as I squeeze out the juice from the twinkle in her eyes.

It?s so good, how can I tell her about you?

I reeled you in and kissed the hook, bait-less and pure by the book. My road at a wind eyes locked we?ll waltz around the clock, parallel to ground.
All hitched rides must end, smile around the bend.
Sunlight rollover to another?s face.

It?s so good, how can I tell her I can?t tell her about you