Bloated exterior, seems the powers-that-be really had taken her right to the core and torn her irreversibly apart
Over a none too obvious ten year stint, hellbent on pushing these drugs upon her ’til deathly still her once oh so boisterous and beautifully beating heart – bleeding and all owing to rather regretful precision when taking into crazy account her sudden need to breathe in and around a meticulous amount of hazy days
The guitar her only real saving grace, a fender coaxed for all too affable company, where her pock-marked face wasted no real real time in dining it out serendipitously so with these replicated greats, and all because her rather natural ability summoned itself to the centre ’til turning out jaw-droppingly otherworldly
We can blame it on fate either way

– Amy Winehouse

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