The Wrens, photo by Gregory A. Perez
i took to faces shooting stills and places i took nudes of our youngest boy I took two years to take his name over i beat blank with blank's toy i'd sing your praises to the devil's face but even fire couldn't dry you out you wouldn't know a good shot if you drank one Then throws up throws punches throws everybody out shut up and while we're on the subject of endless me and the what's i've done i didn't raise my boy to be your snapshot toy not for you, not my son And as he made his point, he opened up my eye: We're off and running North to Nothing, yeah I would not miss him as perfect as he **** –from Abbott 1135