god ross

  • Boy: I'm sorry
  • Boy: it's not you it's-
  • Me: these substandard motels on the (la, la, la, la, la) corner of 4th and Fremont Street. Appealing only 'cause they are just that unappealing, any practiced Catholic would cross themselves upon entering. The rooms have a hint of asbestos and maybe just a dash of formaldehyde, and the habit of decomposing right before your very (la, la, la, la) eyes.
when i came to visit you, that’s when i knew. that i could never have you.
living my life a thousand times faster than normal. i’m missing home, or am i missing you? or am i missing me?
—  ryan ross; monday, march 13 2006
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build god then we’ll talk // panic! at the disco