TT: Prong of flesh bereft of home Found solace 'twixt a cleft of foam. TT: Of apocalypse your thoughts eclipse TT: A painted pair of parted lips TT: That dare through kiss to stir the air TT: That teases tufts of orange hair. TT: And though faces flush in lovers' fits, TT: Hands snug in plush as gloves befit.

TT: Yeah. I suppose what I'm saying is this. Drop some hard, peer-reviewed motherfuckin' science on his ass. Some seriously government funded shit. It will destroy him.

ROSE: That wouldn't make any sense to her. This girl has no clue what a shitty daughter I was.