Tears evoke a taste as memorable as honey. How it passes there and back again like a tear drop glistening in moonlight. I relentlessly desire cotton candy lollipops. I sense wild vapors of sweet champagne in your larynx. The elves that play in the toasters wash their drum sticks in honey and sing strikingly colored anthems in perfect harmonious pleasure. Wood nymphs sprinkle your path with rose petals while you dance and prowl in the sequined moonlight with leftover cupcake sprinkles. Panoramic aromavision is the future. Your sweet voice is like the application of aloe vera upon a sunburnt back. Your hair sends forth a sheen remniscent of golden sunlight winding through shadows. Your eyes show as many deep and full shades of fire as a volcano in heat. The sand runes crossing your divided consciousness do speak of contemptuous monsters being slayed by flying phoenixes. You have not yet reached the height of your creativity. Your essence is equal to the beauty of a galaxy.

"Holy shit epic ending !!!! So sweeeeert" - Mike Wallace of Women, on a shrapnelles song

"I wanna hear it" - Devon Giancarlo of Shit Tits fame

"This band should be called Worst Coast. This sucks" - Devon in the future

Read more: http://www.myspace.com/theshrapnelles

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