Simple NME, what the fuck?
It's the only music magazine college prescribes to, period.
It's like a hormone pool of 'cultured' indie/nu rave/alternative(?) teens who wear shorts up to their chest, jeans more floresant than a road beacon and hair more messy than your house after Skins have crashed it.
If i didn't crave achievement so much then please would someone kill me.
My lack of patience for that shit excuse of free-time reading not only derives from the full trend throttle this klaxons/tight white jeans bullshit that seems to have gripped the nation but the fact i am fucking tired.
Since when have i been unable to sleep until 3am.
I love my bed,irrespective of what i do in it.
I'm fully addicted to this current state of mind.
I wish i minded more.
But my 1pm law exam has left me in a current state of mind vegetation and brain ache, home to complete more work i've failed to due on time at 3.30.
Sore back! Sore feet!
A ragtag army and we're sick in the heat.
We're not pretty and we're not rich.
We're gonna hafta fucking work for it.
It's our life! We do what we choose!
Black Jeans.Black Shirt.Black Shoes.
Mum and Dad still don't approve.
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2 comments:
black coat, white shoes, black hat, caddilac. that boy's a tiiiiime booomb.
When will you ever shut up and stop complaining.
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