where the writers are
Slip Of Wind

Slip the cold breeze as drive through the air, as my hair dwindle itself as dances from my head.
The world in my sense is wicked one at best, the drained on the reality is people morbid sense of self-worth.
Everyone thinks own them something, when it my days you work hard and have respect for you and other.

I am slightly gone on wine but hey everyone need to relax. And why not me? The world is full of people with addiction problem. Hell I had more than fair shared but it learnt come through it and realize their problem.