Passed the old Progress bar we used to know well, before the trouble.
Going home but its still early, thinking about Alexander Mcqueen killing himself today. An unsettling riddle, high talent leaving.
The snow has just stopped falling but the cold has kept most from the midnight streets, the bars of monmartre glow beneath the mist like secret jewels.
Going home but its still early, thinking about Alexander Mcqueen killing himself today. An unsettling riddle, high talent leaving.
The snow has just stopped falling but the cold has kept most from the midnight streets, the bars of monmartre glow beneath the mist like secret jewels.
