typing error fuck, typical, sorry sandwich. you fuck, fuck you, goto hell, go walk on train tracks and die, piece of shits. no one is here, no one talks, no one reads, poison rat traps kill. Wrist pain, guitar deceased. Why even bother? stomach filled with fluids, body pain, work again soon; depressing shit, isn’t it? I know… phonecalls made and no response, but why bother if not fully interested. state it, shoot me with…. a gun, a fun run in the sun it would be my buttered bun, when it is all done, and what is left: no one.