Baby hotline, please hold me close to you. Baby flatline, still time to do it to. Baby snack time, please chow down to Earth, but in your head she's a hoarder of quarters. No boundary boredoms, no boundary boredoms. I contend that your drinking eye has never opened. I insist that someone will die, and I hate hoping. Wishing that the pills let you cry, and I hate coping. Someday, I will go back outside and see her. Ok.