Nineth/Untitsiled

Its like a pot, calling a kettle, black. And too bad for me, ugliness takes place. Where are the beaus? Disenchanted, unremembered, gone.

The more you thought you knew someone, the thinner the book gets. Reality bites, as the more you win the arguments, the more people will leave too.

So who's playing fool. People in glass shouldn't throw stones. You don't know what you might get.