Is it really,October,slave is not quite sure,still wandering around the crunchy street mix in short sleeve order,not quite in a daze but near enough,visions are haunting him,or is it me they are touching up,or should i really say i.Or is that political correctness gone mad. There fore what does this say to slave..stop the roundabout i want to get off,or perhaps i enjoy another circus,or maybe that is to strong a word,more apt for people above the surface of the catacombs i spiral away in.
Slaves mistress is also in a daze,life i guess in the fast lane lets hope the fast lane does not devour her amongst the bright candles,maybe time amongst the dark rich candles instead will feed her the power to continue in her dreams of hope amongst the sunflowers and pews found on a sunday morning,whilst at least part of her can be found in the catacombs along with her collar and chastity belted slave....