Una zapatilla.

Tengo sueño y es que aunque era jueves, ha sido un jueves muy poco mítico así que me he ido a casa a la hora y media.

Aquí, se me ha ocurrido ir al trivia de Dalnet y ahí sigo desde hace tanto tiempo que he aprendido que la flor del estado de Wyoming se llama "Indian Paintbrush".

Y Lama envió foto de Llorator llorando en Tess y su Guardaespaldas, con lágrimas y todo.
Llora que te llora llora que te llora


You were planning to stay in, you had it carefully planned
Your coat was hanging in the hall, your hat was in your hand
You walked over to your woman, your pale distracted love
Who was trying to put the wrong hand into the wrong glove

Are you leaving, dear? Are you leaving, dear?
Are you leaving, dear? Are you leaving, dear?

So you start reading all her books, all her magazines
Just to get a better understanding
Your brain feels like it's dead
Your eyes are hanging out your head
You were hoping for something less demanding
Well what you see staring out at you from a photo book
A man with an eyepatch and a bent, bloody hook
You wished to God that you never went and took a look
Cause it's in that moment that you know that

she's leaving you
Yeah she's leaving you

Well now she's taking you to bed
Her legs wrapped round your head
You're losing her to some crazy kind of motion
You keep coming up for air
You look around and stare
Find you're swimming into completely different oceans
You're wondering if she's thinking about some other man
She says, C'mon, baby, you know you are my loverman
You're going nuts you don't know exactly what to say
She says, Don't worry, baby, this is just my little way
of leaving you
Oh, man, she's leaving you