"ballistic" poems
bananas, bananas, yeah, let’s
b-a-n-a-n-a-s, go bananas, go ballistic
bet you’d like to see me eat a banana
the sun is an orange but my mind’s
already gone fruity, tuesdays and wednesday
are for the stuff i didn’t do on monday
crunch time, getting to my job
is kinda difficult without a car or a bike
and they know i’m too bananas
to drive or ride either
May 16, 2018
May 16, 2018 at 12:02 PM UTC
May I join you in the doghouse, Rover?
I wish to retire till the party's over.
Since three o'clock I've done my best
To entertain each tiny guest. My conscience now I've left behind me,
And if they want me, let them find me.
I blew their bubbles, I sailed their boats,
I kept them from each other's throats. I told them tales of magic lands,
I took them out to wash their hands.
I sorted their rubbers and tied their laces,
I wiped their noses and dried their faces. Of similarities there's lots
Twixt tiny tots and Hottentots.
I've earned repose to heal the ravages
Of these angelic-looking savages. Oh, progeny playing by itself
Is a lonely little elf,
But progeny in roistering batches
Would drive St. francis from here to Natchez. Shunned are the games a parent proposes,
They prefer to squirt each other with hoses,
Their playmates are their natural foemen
And they like to poke each other's abdomen. Their joy needs another woe's to cushion it,
Say a puddle, and someone littler to push in it.
They observe with glee the ballistic results
Of ice cream with spoons for catapults, And inform the assembly with tears and glares
That everyone's presents are better than theirs.
Oh, little women and little men,
Someday I hope to love you again, But not till after the party's over,
So give me the key to the doghouse, Rover
7.8k
Zeus had plastic surgery,
his fingertips shaved off
so he would not leave prints
when he committed
his archetypal crimes.
He changed his name to Saturn
then to Cronos
then to Albatross Von Mariner,
all this subterfuge
just to disquise the fact
that he goes borderline ballistic
when he doesn't get his way.
He pulled Icarus out of the sky,
wounded Prometheus’ side,
left Sisyphus on a steep lonely mountain,
dared Demeter to save her daughter,
yet these souls persist
in mnemonic literary defiance
of a single fact…
No god is greater than you,
the karma jury has come in
and Zeus is sentenced
to five years of community service
on Interstate Highway 5.
He will wear a yellow clown suit
with a red rubber nose
and floppy green shoes
with a fast food tray hanging from his neck
and he will walk in traffic snarls
stopping at every car
to clean the windows
to sell hotdogs
with purple relish and black mustard
wrapped in grey buns
as unappetizing and pathetic
as the lies
he has told us about ourselves
for so long.
Oct 24, 2012
Oct 24, 2012 at 7:35 AM UTC
As my soles strike the concrete
My soul soars across the skyline
And I catch myself considering
The constant conflict of life,
I'm confounded
By the concept of beauty
By which we're surrounded
Then I see a skyscraper
And my mind goes ballistic
With a sudden epiphany
Each window holds a story
Of a person or a family
Facing challenges like me
And the whole of humanity
I stand there
Staggered
As I consider the potential
The knowledge
The beliefs
And I begin to entertain
The ludicrous notion
That maybe
Just maybe
The world isn't broken
If all of those windows
Set aside all adversity
We could face any problem
With the highest degree of certainty
Dec 3, 2013
Dec 3, 2013 at 5:03 PM UTC
Capricorn the sea goat
Equal parts earth and water
Emotions rush over like waves;
quickly they consume like undertow,
dragged into depths of melancholy abyss
Determined, we persevere as if nothing is amiss
Climbing back atop the mountain in spite of such turmoil,
we bury our feelings in the cool dark soil
Though sometimes we get stuck in the mud
so we wait until it turns to clay
Aiming to build solid foundation without delay,
forming structure is our forte
We’re quite resourceful, I must say!
Sure, Saturn’s influence is rough;
repaying karmic debts can make life feel so fatalistic
It's why we can’t help being so tough;
these unexpressed emotions make us want to go ballistic...
Just always remember it’s all humbling at the end of the day
Such lessons are important for doing whatever we may
Really, we wouldn’t have it any other way
Dec 22, 2015
Dec 22, 2015 at 2:57 PM UTC
I wonder if behind closed doors,
You shed tears.
I wonder if behind closed doors,
You curse out loud, give voice to your fears.
I wonder if behind closed doors,
You think of all of the things you haven't done yet.
I wonder if behind closed doors,
You ask Him if this is a safe bet.
I wonder if behind closed doors,
You dream of the day you'll be free.
I wonder if behind closed doors,
You just try to stay calm and breathe.
I wonder if behind closed doors,
You're afraid of falling asleep.
I wonder if behind closed doors,
You know what you want others to keep.
I wonder if behind closed doors,
There are people you want to forgive.
I wonder if behind closed doors,
You wonder how long you're going to live.
I wonder if behind closed doors,
You loathe what you can't control.
I wonder if behind closed doors,
No matter how many blankets you pile on, will you still feel cold?
I wonder if behind closed doors,
You remember your first kiss.
I wonder if behind closed doors,
You understand you'll always be missed.
I wonder if behind closed doors,
You struggle with regular tasks.
I wonder if behind closed doors,
Your face no longer resembles an emotionless mask.
I wonder if behind closed doors,
You let your emotions show.
I wonder if behind closed doors,
You think about the time you'll have to go.
I wonder if behind closed doors,
You're satisfied with your life.
I wonder if behind closed doors,
Is there anything you'd be willing to sacrifice?
I wonder if behind closed doors,
You stare a yourself in the full length mirror.
I wonder if behind closed doors,
You wonder when answers will become clearer.
I wonder if behind closed doors,
You think of your loved ones.
I wonder if behind closed doors,
You reminisce on hunting and guns.
I wonder if behind closed doors,
Your parents talk to you.
I wonder if behind closed doors,
You just want to start anew.
I wonder if behind closed doors,
You stay optimistic.
I wonder if behind closed doors,
You let it all go and become ballistic.
I wonder if behind closed doors,
You're tired of taking all the pills.
I wonder if behind closed doors,
You feel death's constant chill.
I wonder if behind closed doors,
You read like you always have.
I wonder if behind closed doors,
This all makes you ****** mad.
I wonder if behind closed doors,
You fall to your knees and pray.
I know that behind closed doors,
We're all happy you're here today.
When you go, open my closed doors,
And please watch over me.
Because when I'm behind a closed door,
I'll be waiting for you to comfort me.
Dec 25, 2012
Dec 25, 2012 at 4:31 AM UTC
The birthday song is not a song it's not even a small ditty
As it is only four lines long it's really rather ******
There isn't a good chorus so isn't that a pity
A catchy tune it has not got and the lyrics are not witty
This song's lyrics are so short and there all the ****** same
Apart from the 3rd line down when you substitute a name
Okay you say "Dear" instead of "To", but its still a basic frame
So this is not a song at all so why has it got the fame
It's no wonder people alter the words with monkeys in the zoo
And looking like these critters and smelling like them too
Or changed to bread and butter in the gutter or squashed tomatoes and stew
Because the song is so boring so what else can you do
Who the hell wrote this song was it someone who's autistic
Come on now lets be frank and a bit more realistic
If I where to write this song producers would go ballistic
I'd get thrown out of the biz and become a lost statistic
Just because it's your birthday I'm not singing about happy
People are compelled to sing when really its just ******
It's not the best song in the world I don't want to sound so snappy
The birthday song is full of crap just like a soiled *****
It's like we are pre programmed even Marilyn Monroe
To sing the ****** birthday song just for ****** show
But honestly this song is crap and it can surely go
And we can stop with the pretence and cease going with the flow
When your birthday does arrive and your expecting a big day
The time will come when you know your ears are going to pay
Cos someone's bound to start it with or without your say
Why does it have to be sung does it have to be this way
Singing the birthday song should not be a life compulsion
Don't succumb to the trend and quash your minds impulsion
Stamp down on the process and enforce a song expulsion
Do away with this song and all of its revulsion
The birthday song is not a song when it's sixteen words long
Half of them are happy birthday that doesn't constitute a song
The wording is so ****** thin as thin as a snapped thong
And the musical arrangement isn't even strong
People should not sing this song not even a small bit
Why is it classed as a song we should stop singing it
Most of the words are the same and there is a lack of wit
So don't sing the birthday song cos it's not a song it's ****
Jan 11, 2018
Jan 11, 2018 at 8:14 AM UTC
Black blueberries buttoned by *****
Black blueberries buttoned by *****
This wasn't yours to loose
Nothing was yours to loose
Black blueberries backed by bench men
Bench men that sit on side lines
Thinking
When will the golden moment be
To break through; proving themselves
Worthy of the benched boxes they be in
Everyday
Because
They believe in benevolence
Black blueberries busting through my *****
Black blueberries busting through my *****
Better than bullets
Better than bullets
Better than bombs and turrets
Better than ballistic knifes and skillets
And arsenals of ignorance bettered with bills
Bills I pay to ensure my life is ready to die
Is it a matter of our collective thoughts?
Those black blueberries are buried
And not because I am becoming a black blueberry I say this
But because life begins with black blueberries
Who all turn into nothing but pale *****
All conformed
Not to natural laws
But to the cognitive bacterial infection
Called education
Turning us to blue blueberries
Blue blueberries
And grand building bannered with ********
Black blueberries are bored
Black blueberries are right
Black blueberries are always right…
Apr 30, 2013
Apr 30, 2013 at 1:27 PM UTC
(the tics will talk 'til twelve o'clock)
When we make time,
When we listen:
The theistic preach deistic talk;
The atheistic preach pragmatic talk;
The agnostic preach proleptic talk;
The heretic preach shismatic talk;
The mystic preach prophetic talk.
(the mesianic and satanic never stop)
When we have time;
Then we listen:
The optimistic teach hypnotic talk;
The pessimistic teach sarcastic talk;
The altruistic teach empathetic talk;
The idealistic teach synergistic talk;
The pacifistic teach semantic talk;
The body politic teach charismatic talk;
The technocratic teach robotic talk;
The romantic teach poetic talk;
The critic teach cathartic talk;
The moralistic teach dualistic talk;
The ascetic teach platonic talk.
(the artist would rather not talk)
When we find time,
Do we listen:
The lunatic speak quizzotic talk;
The neurotic speak pathetic talk;
The chauvanistic speak monistic talk;
The nihilistic speak ballistic talk;
The hedonist speak narcissistic talk;
The futuristic speak galactic talk.
(the minimalist hasn't the time to talk)
Just don't.
Look.
Some tic reset the clock.
Mar 7, 2014
Mar 7, 2014 at 12:15 AM UTC
Monday
It has come to my attention, that someone has been stealing from
the communal fridge. I notice that my own personal milk with my
name on the bottle is half empty, also three fingers of my kitkat
are missing. Please refrain, or action will be taken.
Tuesday
It has come to my attention, and I’m pleasantly surprised to see
my milk has been topped up, though, why two fingers of my
kitkat in a V sign beggars belief. Just tasted my milk, you
***** ******* I will now be monitoring the fridge from my office.
You will be caught.
Wednesday
It has come to my attention, the camera monitoring the fridge
is now monitoring the ladies toilet. This is intolerable, you are
usurping my authority. Heads will roll. I will now be moving the
fridge into my office till further notice.
Thursday
It has come to my attention, my office has been penetrated,
the fridge is missing, and I find a ransom note on my desk.
I don’t know who you people think you're dealing with, but
let me leave you in no doubt, I will find out who you are, and
you will be dismissed.
Friday
It has come to my attention, a delivery of fifty fridges is
cluttering up the whole building, management is going
ballistic. I concede to your demands, please get rid of
them. Let us get back to you taking my milk and my biscuits,
my job, my life. Just leave me alone.
Thank you.
May 3, 2015
May 3, 2015 at 5:23 AM UTC
I don’t even know where all of this insane energy came from.
I’m sitting here going completely ballistic.
Off
The
WALL!
People ask me if I’m ok…
I look like I’m having a seizure.
I’m fine.
More than, actually.
I can hardly focus on anything.
The sensation keeps ripping through all of my fibers.
I’m being confined to my seat, and I’m going MAD!
I want to just run away with all my energy.
Stand up on the table singing “I’m the Tops!”
Scream all around the Grand Canyon to hear myself.
All I CAN do is sit in my chair.
Bopping my head,
Tapping my fingers,
Jittering my legs,
Slapping my feet…
I don’t know what to do…
All of this energy came rushing through my body.
Who knows where it all came from.
Help me.
Before
I
crash…
Apr 5, 2013
Apr 5, 2013 at 6:48 PM UTC
love between poets: “who will be between the sheets next week
when I’m gone,” she lets sigh-escape,
as she watches the backyard paradise parading landscape
of animals before the bay, perfect day sure to come,
her new pets obeying the early morn sunrising awakening call
to rise, everyone playing~parading, before her royal summons,
no coincidence, finger-of-god, two by two
this while I’m kissing her neck,
my arm around her *******
and the he-intent on slip sliding down
to the small of her back,
obeying his innate,
worship worshiping and giving up,
all he’s got intense intently contentedly
unfazed, unphased,
non-nonplussed,
he’s been interrogated before,
heart is pure he answers:
next weekend when you are back in situ,
thousands of miles away, airplane housed for hours,
writing poems of love from the lost and found,
recalling this exact moment,
how I worshipped your presence,
and these words:
You will be with me in every breath,
our sheets will radioactively emit
ions and molecules of our scent combined,
and present as present your perfume can be,
elicited, elixir, you and me combinant
she turns from the bay-view,
the animals who now mutually
worship her adoration,
watching, focused on us as observers,
she lifts me up and smiles,
replying*
“oh my lover you’re the cad of cads,
king of the baddest poet-lads,
the gist of what is wrong with the best of men,
her, pressing me hard to her chestnut hair chest,
she, falling down into my eyes
take me back to bed, liar,
let me add to my aroma,
to ensue, to ensure you will miss
the best love
you had partly, insufficiently, and unhinged
completely
I’m your lassie, you my lad,
my king of cads, my lover poet,
thief of my poems and my secret speech spells,
escalating senses of one’s imaginings”*
and,
along came the rest
of what was freely given,
for love between poets
man and
a woman,
is a someone, somewhere,
sometime summertime
thing
*I will still smell you in my
heart, and send to you ballistic missives,
words to explode your tear ducts
when you rest in sheets that met me,
when you’ll know me by my odors,
cry out loud so that you’ll scare our animals,
no matter how many tides wash away our residue,
you will never unknow and be forever unprepared
for my return,*
even though we will be each, a thousand unwritten poems away...
Jul 13, 2019
Jul 13, 2019 at 11:07 AM UTC
All I know is monsters
All I see is a cold world that gets darker as the *** stir's
The future blurs to a point its so obscure it's not yours
Can't seem to stop words from causing me to go backwards
Maybe I need to go back and relearn like toddlers in diapers
There's no cures
All the fibers of my being are withering away like dead flowers
Retreating like cowards
The more I try the worse I fail, a living hell, crunch the numbers
I've done the math, a chalk board full of blunders
Nightmares occurring with my eyes wide shut
It's more then a rut
A candidate to win? Nope, I have a losing ballot
No safety blanket and no bright colors on my pallet
Hollow and cryptic
Revisit the past like I'm stuck to it with a rivet
This isn't just unfortunate it's inadequate
Chew off my arm to be free or just cannibalistic
Can I even resist it?
This dark army that I have enlisted
For to long happy never even existed
And you wonder why I tend go ballistic...
Man, *** this $hit!
©2018
Feb 19, 2018
Feb 19, 2018 at 12:39 AM UTC
.
ICBM
ICBMICB
MICBMICB
MICBMICB
MICBMIC
BMICBM
ICBMICB
MICBMI
CBMICB
MICBMI
ICBMICB
MICBMI
ICBM ICBM
ICBMICBM ICBMICBM
ICBMICBMIC BMICBMIXBM
ICBMICBM ICBMICBM
ICBM ICBM
Jul 29, 2017
Jul 29, 2017 at 3:28 PM UTC
This season we're going all out
And I mean ballistic
We ain't pulling no punches
Taking out all the stops
Were gonna go mad
Talk,talk ,talk
Go, go go!
I'm talking about road trips to nowhere
Bar hoping like alcoholic amphibians
Bus rides to The Big City
Cliff jumping
Hold our breaths as the fireworks launch themselves into the summer evening sky and explode
As we dance and sing of wonderful things
Debouched ***
Experimenting with sense derangement
Study the spiritual teaching from the far east
Make the suburbans myths that will never fade
Roller coaster calamities
Visit strip clubs under the unfinished highway
Lay back on a crowded beach and float in the ocean
Hike in the wilderness up a torrent mountain
And when we reach the top we'll howl at the moon in the starry midnight air
We will write compelling manifestos of freedom
And we will not sleep
We will grow stronger, wiser
And when fall comes we will be new
We'll be alive
We will have known what it means to live
Live
Live
Apr 21, 2014
Apr 21, 2014 at 2:42 PM UTC
Somebody put me out of my misery,
I've been struck by a curious malady:
I can't seem to stop
writing sappy poetry!
Perhaps it's *** my muse is ineffable,
Can't help if that makes her indelible.
Now the evidence lies before your very eyes,
That she as cause and culprit should pay the price
For all of my absurd sentimentalities
Is a result of her bewitchful tendencies:
Bore a mighty wordsmith
out of a hopeless romantic.
Now this whole shebang
might drive me ballistic
As time passes
I can't seem to find a problem with that though
My muse, my lady malady:
Fine, I'll be the lunatic
Now wouldn't that be poetic??
Jan 18, 2022
Jan 18, 2022 at 5:30 AM UTC
Humble beginnings
To the bitter ends
Frantic boot heels
Optical illusions
The **** of a joke
Last but not least
Whatsoever
Then again
Telegram a trigger word
Dangle from an umbilical chord
Eat the placenta
As the deadlines fluctuate
And the ambivalence
Is sealed in a canopic jar
It's experimental
Mental experiences
It's elemental
exemplary mentality
It's explicit
To solicit
The illicit
And go ballistic
-Tommy Johnson
They're so generous
To call me and my work sui generis
I'm just inter-being
To learn from ignorance
By my own volition
To achieve total consciousness
"Of all the nerve you sure got a lot of some of it"
Coming from oblivion
Ideas composing
The appreciation
Imagination turn into materialization
Expand and contract
The sensation of feeling
We crave and we cling
Becoming, we're born
A phase, we age
Sickness and death
Cessation, ratify or deny
Die gratified
These are the type of things we discussed in the Agora, all those times ago
-Tommy Johnson
Jan 11, 2015
Jan 11, 2015 at 6:55 PM UTC
Its very eyes demand existence
Its complexion is as dark as night
Its mouth oozes with uncertainty
Its presence demands fright
One cannot just stare into its eyes
without losing oneself in the dark
Its words beckons the strong
Then eats them like a shark
With this monster
There is no discrimination
With this monster
There is only intimidation
Its trials are absolute hell
Its games are sadistic
Laying obstacle after obstacle
Until someone goes ballistic
This mysterious monster has but one name
Its occupation is this: an abuser
Its a name that strikes fear in all but the brave
Its name is this: the future
May 30, 2012
May 30, 2012 at 10:10 PM UTC
Stack the bodies higher
Stack them for the empire
People want more cash
So they sell harmful weapons
They don't mind the ash
Made of victims of aggression
Like collateral children in Yemen
Who are needlessly sent to heaven
Or the schoolchildren in Florida
Who had to go face the coroner
These children only know what we teach them
So how come the only things that can reach them
Are our weapons
And deadly directions?
Because of lobbyists like the NRA
Using logic from the seventh grade
To create a coalition of those who believe what they're told
And those unwilling to change because they're too old
And adults who desperately want their toys
Even if it means the death of little boys
So the bodies continue to stack to the sky
For people who dream of killing black guys
Black in the sense that they don't know who they are
They just want to feel hard
Stuck in a childish fantasy of protecting their home
Or a petulant fear of the unknown
Their economic gain
Causes ballistic pain
Inside their bullet rain
Innocence circles the drain
But we must make decisions together
Even with the emotionally severed
In order to make our society better
Until then our children get deader
They use uncertainty to buy time
And convince the masses
That the real problem is crime
To create rhetoric molasses
Because they make a living
From us dying
They don't mind bullet giving
Until we're lying
Six feet under
The guns sound like thunder
Warning of an approaching lightning storm
Where the rain drops stab us to our core
Then mix with the blood on the floor
Until civilization is no more
I hear loud guns
Then I hear church bells
I walk in the sun
But the foul dirt smells
Of the corpses of countless kids
Representing high contract bids
And the tears of their mothers
That are swept under the covers
By those with no empathy
That cause only entropy
Then they expect to live near us
A gun will make them hear us
Feb 28, 2018
Feb 28, 2018 at 6:15 PM UTC
So many words between us—
The caustic breech of abatement, ruin
Runs atonal, in recitals of indifference,
How even the ****** birds now sound
Discordant and rain crushes as it falls,
Ballistic.
The pinprick stars are merely eyes
Undraped to the worn soul's veil
And gorgon time roils setting our feet
In the crust of wishes and delusions
Kept.
The bullet riddled skies in absence
Of colour are but particulates of lime
To the moonless night. Words have no
Eyes, they can only finger.
O the sorrows of the untouched—
The cruelty of the sightless and bent blind,
Drab vermillion stars felled like forced tears.
Jun 6, 2014
Jun 6, 2014 at 10:57 AM UTC
What is it, Really?
Is it an abstract state we reach when we achieve something?
A virtue spent avoiding the ***** of tomorrow while the sands of time sift through
This gaping hole.
A mole inside each and everyone's head.
Is it a fulfilled part of humanity where everything is just sanity
And this dilemma becomes a person who lives, & walks away?
And will that person ever become a joy in the end
Undone by all those spent virtues
For just a vacation?
A breather from all the stress, accumulated by the success
That became a mess
Just to prove a point.
**** me running, with the laws of the world
Stunning the harlot from today.
Time lapses while the world relaxes and the system
Just unfolds, on the better winding
Yesterday.
But the real question remains, the phase that we relate to
The daze that crazes us while we smile;
What happens when we succeed and THEN sleep with the ********** of life?
Oh that *****
Sadistic, realistic, ballistic, narcissistic,
A stick up the *** of everyone who smiled,
The seducing failure becomes a part of you
While you do what you never do
And you move when the world revolves.
And now in the end, the meanings that won't mend
The trend becomes collapse.
And your absent mind, becomes your reality.
Dec 15, 2013
Dec 15, 2013 at 11:55 AM UTC
Dotta swung and he missed
Time for him to cease and desist
After Ren went ballistic
Because he couldn’t resist
The allure of a battle
Using words like their fists
Landing blow after blow
Without a beat to assist
We witnessed a burial
An end to a reign
But all that king Dotta was..
Was a true royal pain
A husky, sad, clout chaser
Vanilla, quite plain
Who failed in his attempt
To perform; entertain
Ren showed his ferocity, his ability, his skills
He speared his first whale
Despite Dotta not having gills
But Ren gave him a lifeline
Without showing any ill will
Offering all he can eat
On a buffet filled with krill
One million subscribers
Sent to consume and digest
King Dotta’s music
Of which I’ve been unimpressed
But the message from Ren
Was really quite clear
As the words spilled from his lips
“A rising tide, lifts all ships”
Aug 6, 2023
Aug 6, 2023 at 5:21 AM UTC
Unrealistically going ballistic on premature political whistle blowing of missing ballistic missiles.
Rumors round the fickle frowns trickling down around town,
WMD's never found.
Media drowns out our original intent with swayed day-to-day comments about potential evidence or contents of secret documents or undisturbed "security clearancegate".
Still secret and still unclear year-to-date....
our eroded freedoms now appurtenances as consequence.
The missing missiles long ago hidden or moved like agendas with chess-master finesse.
Citizens chide "You lied!! Confess!"
Behooving you proves nothing in bringing relief to your beliefs,
thieving your freedoms and Commander in Chief.
Lectures on conjecture don't secure a future.
It's almost "Au Revior" american cars and mortgages, hype puts the scarred afar Stars and Stripes Bail Bonds Czars in business.
Meanwhile billions are spent to rebuild the countries invaded without consent.
The Banks are saved but don't repent.
Far enough away to keep my iniquity a bay for today.
I clearly see what is before me, but respond not to my thoughts as I was taught.
Septed in guilt,
wept in filth
kept in tilt
loss is coming,
should have flossed.
The long term costs tossed aside.
Just another day I drive away from the driveway rarely driven to lie longer or lie down somber,
striving for stronger days lost,
feels wrong though.
I still go.
Pay the tolls.
Stop and go.
Fill the daily paying role outside my dreams and goals.
Play generic background music while my soul's on hold waiting for the next available operator.
Just another day, a way to stay alive and not lie down in hunger,
paying for my blunders,
staving off my heart's quiet thunder,
my dreams and wonders.
I still get up. I still go. Bills to pay. Traffic's slow. I mute the radio.
-R. Craig David-Copyright 2007
Apr 1, 2013
Apr 1, 2013 at 5:14 AM UTC