π¦Έπ¦ππππππ©π²π²π±π±ππΌππ‘π£π―π©ππππ΄ππππ π£ππ―ππ«πͺπππΌπΌππ π©π‘π¦π΄πππΊππ½ππΏππππππππ©ππππ±π΄πππππππ±π°π―ππ«πͺπππΌπ΄π΄ππππππππΊπΊπ©π§ππ«πͺππ°πππΆπΏπ΄π΄ππ
He said, "You're really an ugly girl<br> But I like the way you play"<br> And I died<br> But I thanked him<br> Can you believe that?<br> Sick, sick, holding on to his picture<br> Dressing up every day― Tori Amos – Precious Things
I remember, yes<br> In my peach party dress<br> No one dared<br> No one cared to tell me<br> Where the pretty girls are<br> Those demigods― Tori Amos – Precious Things
