He was a boy She was a girl can I make it any more obvious
He was a punk she did ballet
What more can I say he wanted her she'd never tell
Secretly she wanted him as
Well but all of her friends stuck up their nose
They had a problem with his baggy clothes
He was a Sk8ter boy
She said see ya later boy
He wasn't good enough for her
She had a pretty face
But her head was up in space
She needed to come back down to earth
I only want one, to join you
To the other side in your arms
Near your lips forever
I love you, I miss you
♥ Sick Of You ♥
C'était mieux que tout.
Mieux que la drogue. Mieux que l'héro. Mieux que la dope, coke, crack, fitj, joint, shit, shoot, snif, pèt', ganja, Marie-jeanne, cannabis, beuh, péyotl, buvard, acide, LSD, extasy.
Mieux que le sexe, mieux que la fellation, soixante-neuf, partouze, masturbation, tantrisme, Kâma-Sûtra, brouette thaïlandaise. Mieux que le Nutella au beurre de cacahuète et le milk-shake banane.
Mieux que toutes les trilogies de George Lucas, l'intégrale des Muppets-show, la fin de 2001.
Mieux que le déhanché d'Emma Peel, Marilyn, la schtroumpfette, Lara Croft, Naomi Campbell et le grain de beauté de Cindy Crawford. Mieux que la face B d'Abbey road, les CD d'Hendrix, le nouveau p'tit pas de Neil Armstrong sur la lune. Le space-mountain, la ronde du Père-Noël, la fortune de Bill Gates, les transes de Dalaï-lama, les NDE, la résurrection de Lazare, toutes les piquouzes de testostérone de Schwarzy, le collagène dans les lèvres de Pamela Anderson. Mieux que Woodstock et les rêve-party les plus orgasmiques. Mieux que la défonce de Sade, Rimbaud, Morisson et Castaneda.
Mieux que la liberté.
Mieux que la vie !