Placeholder: It's nothin' personal but you gotta do What you gotta do to Make it in a world that Doesn't even care about you You're in the wrong bar During the wrong night These are the cards you were dealt So why fight? I wish there would be another way but We really weren't given a choice I'm at the top of the food chain Baby and in my world you don't have a voice I don't want you, I want your blood It's nothin' personal but you gotta do What you gotta do to Make it in a world that Doesn't even care about you You're in the wrong bar During the wrong night These are the cards you were dealt So why fight? I wish there would be another way but We really weren't given a choice I'm at the top of the food chain Baby and in my world you don't have a voice I don't want you, I want your blood

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@generalpha

Prompt

It's nothin' personal but you gotta do What you gotta do to Make it in a world that Doesn't even care about you You're in the wrong bar During the wrong night These are the cards you were dealt So why fight? I wish there would be another way but We really weren't given a choice I'm at the top of the food chain Baby and in my world you don't have a voice I don't want you, I want your blood

distorted image, malformed body, malformed fingers

2 months ago

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Model

SSD-1B

Guidance Scale

7

Dimensions

1248 × 832

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Amidst the swirling haze of cigarette smoke and the dimly lit corners of a bohemian bar, the groovy '60s found their sanctuary. It was a place where poets, musicians, and wanderers sought refuge from the bustling chaos of the outside world. The air was thick with anticipation as the sound of jazz mingled harmoniously with the clinking of glasses. They found themselves drawn to this den of creativity, their paths converging in the heart of the underground scene. They reveled in the smoky ambiance
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Your eyes scan the crowd, taking in the eclectic mix of patrons who have found refuge in the bar's smoky embrace. A group of poets huddle in one corner, their voices rising and falling in animated discussion, while a lone saxophonist pours his soul into the music, his notes weaving through the air like tendrils of smoke. And then, your gaze settles on her — Theresa Hak Kyung Cha, a solitary figure nestled in a booth at the edge of the room. She sits with a quiet grace, her dark hair framing a fa
Amidst the swirling haze of cigarette smoke and the dimly lit corners of a bohemian bar, the groovy '60s found their sanctuary. It was a place where poets, musicians, and wanderers sought refuge from the bustling chaos of the outside world. The air was thick with anticipation as the sound of jazz mingled harmoniously with the clinking of glasses. Together, they vowed to continue their journey, to push boundaries, challenge the status quo, and capture the essence of their era. The groovy '60s wer
It's nothin' personal but you gotta do What you gotta do to Make it in a world that Doesn't even care about you You're in the wrong bar During the wrong night These are the cards you were dealt So why fight? I wish there would be another way but We really weren't given a choice I'm at the top of the food chain Baby and in my world you don't have a voice I don't want you, I want your blood
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Amidst the swirling haze of cigarette smoke and the dimly lit corners of a bohemian bar, the groovy '60s found their sanctuary. It was a place where poets, musicians, and wanderers sought refuge from the bustling chaos of the outside world. The air was thick with anticipation as the sound of jazz mingled harmoniously with the clinking of glasses. Together, they vowed to continue their journey, to push boundaries, challenge the status quo, and capture the essence of their era. The groovy '60s wer
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Your eyes scan the crowd, taking in the eclectic mix of patrons who have found refuge in the bar's smoky embrace. A group of poets huddle in one corner, their voices rising and falling in animated discussion, while a lone saxophonist pours his soul into the music, his notes weaving through the air like tendrils of smoke. And then, your gaze settles on her — Theresa Hak Kyung Cha, a solitary figure nestled in a booth at the edge of the room. She sits with a quiet grace, her dark hair framing a fa
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