texts: It's so... small.
labels: Poor, tired, spinning girl... How we feasted on her.  And now that we've had our fill and given her a giant dose of the clap... we're pulling out.  That's Paris, where my daughter was born.  Moscow, where gangsters rule the night and I gave up smoking.  So many battles, so many lives... all that sturm, and drang.  As if it never happened.  If it weren't for a few power grids, you wouldn't know we existed.