With bong in hands, through the air past the time. Through the note we traced, step in the mind, body n soul. Slide away, began to fly. The lower note, low end pith, high distorted pitch control the story. Dynamics and volume shaped the aesthetics. Till the part it comes to the end,"PUFFF!", it disappeared, vanished. leaving you in a tragic
identity crisis.
seaNdeaN
3 comments:
tragic identity crisis tu hape?hihi
hello there...thanks following :))
do wan't hit from the bong......
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