they should invent a life that is liveable and a sleep that comes easy and a winter that doesn't feel like decay and a spring that doesn't feel like the past and a head that doesn't hurt and a heart that doesn't sit in your chest like a rock and a body that doesn't hate you and a hometown that doesn't make you lose your mind and a university that won't kill you they should invent a me that is normal I think that would be really neat. ok good night I love you
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Neil Gaiman, probably: Crowley is a cool, suave, powerful prince of Hell. He is somewhere in London sipping whisky and staring mournfully into the middle distance while "Pale Blue Eyes" spins on the record player.
Me: So the Bentley is refusing to play anything but "My Happy Ending" by Avril Lavigne on repeat and Crowley has been lying in the back seat for three days straight. He has consumed half a dozen gallons of ice cream right out of the carton while ugly crying so hard that his corporation manifested smudged eyeliner in sympathy.
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